The Fidget Connections Canon: Candle of the Heart
by Reyelene
Summary: Fidget fails to understand the meaning of Christmas ... until he finds an enlightening source during a journey in the woods on a wintry evening.
1. Yuletide Woes

**_"Loving is to live, with the power to forgive ..."_ -Kajagoogoo. Recently, I've read the reviews GMD fans have given me on in the past. One that caught my eye was the one posted by MercurysPen for _The Eve I Gained a Son_ about "being less inclined to believe Fidget being able to reform so much." Although I don't always have the time to response to all reviews, it does not mean that I don't take them into consideration. It's because of reviews like these, it helps me to see where I need improvement in my writing. And by improvement, I mean so that they can still get tear-jerk reactions, yet remain enjoyable even years from now. So for this story, I used the same formula as I did with _The Eve I Gained a Son_ , but this time I focused more on the emotional aspect versus the logical one. Reviews are welcome, constructive criticism preferred. Fidget, Albert, and Anna are copyright to Disney. All other characters are copyright to Reyelene (me).**

 **Chapter 1: _Yuletide Woes_**

"Why do you just sit there!? Help me to set up the tree!"

Deniece and Fidget spent the past three weeks looking at trees in the old Toy Store Fidget once robbed. In reality, they weren't real trees as they would be too tall to fit in the homes of rodents and bats in mousedom society. They were instead fake trees, sold as pieces of decorations to village models and manger sets. They were only slightly taller than Deniece's height and she would've had no trouble carrying them herself. The reason she asked Fidget to help her carry them was because she became so horribly agitated by Fidget's recent apathetic behavior. There was no excuse for him to be lazy, or moody! She couldn't decide if that first night she met him was his worst display of etiquette or this newly sour disposition. But it didn't stop there.

While at Deniece's household, the two bats have been fighting with each other. While Deniece complained that Fidget left his things in a disorganized mess and that she _always_ had to clean up after him, Fidget complained how Deniece _forced_ him into going to place that brought back bad memories (the Toy Store) and that she was taking her troubled past out on him.

"I'm not a kid, Niecy! I don't know _why_ you're givin' me a hard time over t'ings dat are not a big deal!"

"You're so _lazy_! You never help out when I ask for it, and I've caught you drinking! I thought you've _changed_!"

At times, the two bats got so carried away with their bickering that their voices rose to such an extent that Constable Smith knocked on Deniece's door because neighbors were complaining about the noise. Upon seeing Fidget in her house, Constable Smith insisted on helping Deniece throw the peg-legged bat out. But Deniece told the constable that it wasn't necessary and that Fidget was _just leaving_.

At the Collins' household, Fidget fared no better. Anna noticed the bat had become a completely nervous wreck at the house. He would write in the diary Father Richards gave him only to tear the pages out in frustration. He took his fists and punched his bed, much to Albert's disturbance. When he heard The Christmas Carolers singing outside, he covered his ears as if the music was torturing him. He would've thrown something at the carolers to scare them away, but hesitated only because their pleased Albert and Anna Collins. Surprisingly, Fidget did not take any of his frustration out on his foster parents. Perhaps it was for fear of being thrown out when he knew he had no where to go. Albert went to Fidget to ask what was wrong in hopes he would get some information out of him. The only information he managed to get was that Fidget hated the tree, he hated the box of decorations, and he hated the sound of the carolers.

"I thought you liked the sound of singing."

"I like _Niecy's_ singin'."

But lately Fidget had broken out in a fuss whenever Deniece practiced Christmas psalms for Westminster Abbey. Albert knew this because it was Deniece who had told him. So he suggested that Fidget discuss the matter with Father Richards.

In between their history and science lessons, Father Richards noticed Fidget glancing at his conservatively decorated Christmas tree from time to time, and complained if they could go in another room where the tree wasn't present. Or when The Christmas Carolers knocked on Father Richards's door to entertain him, Fidget would run the other way covering his large ears. Curiously, Father Richards approached Fidget once the carolers were gone. Upon seeing the priest inches away from him, Fidget was overcome with a nervous meltdown.

"You t'ink I'm _beyond_ savin', don't you!? I might as well go back to prison!"

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, _look_ at me!" Fidget held out both this wings as if begging to be handcuffed. They were trembling beyond control, as with his whole body. "I'm a _wreck_ , priest! I'm drivin' Niecy mad, I'm drivin' my foster parents mad, I'm drivin' you mad! You t'ink I'm possessed by some demon, don't you!?"

Father Richards lowered his spectacles, which was his way of saying that he was unconvinced. "And _what_ makes you think I would come to _that_ conclusion?"

Fidget's erratic behavior came to an abrupt halt. His yellow eyes darted left to right, as if trying to spot anyone else who was watching. "Because ... dhose mice. Dheir singin' scared me ..."

Father Richards chuckled. "Fidget, I highly doubt that any of the behavior you've displayed over the past three weeks is _nearly_ enough to deem someone _mad_."

"Wait, how did _you_ know?"

"Well, they don't call me a _worldly mouse_ for nothing," Father Richards. "Everyone has told me all the things you've done."

" _Everyone_!? _Who_!?"

Fidget learned through Father Richards that everyone he knew around him all came by and told the priest what was going on and that they were all concerned. Fidget lowered his head, feeling very stupid for displaying such childish behavior. But what surprised him was the mention of Constable Smith in the equation.

"Why would da constable be concerned about _me_?" Fidget asked. "He _hates_ me."

Father Richards shook his head. "You may not believe this, but even Constable Smith worries about your well being."

Fidget chuckled. "I t'ink he's more worried of da idea dat I'm out on da streets and not in jail where I belong."

Father Richards began to change the subject ... or rather, get back _on_ the subject since the conversation turned away from it. "Didn't I once tell you in Pentonville that change meant pain, suffering, and a lot of _hard work_?"

Fidget did remember the priest telling him that in Pentonville. Everyday he is constantly reminded of the bad things he has done ... often to no end. And _that_ was the problem. "Well I don't know _why_ everyone else likes dis Christmas so much when I wish it wouldn't come-"

"Aha, so _that's_ it!" Father Richards interrupted as he wagged a pointed finger in the air. "It's _Christmas_ , isn't it? _That_ is what has been bothering you."

Fidget heaved a sigh of surrender. "I just don't understand it. All da fuss about lookin' for trees, da decorations, setting up da table. I don't understand _any_ of it."

It was true. Fidget did not understand anything about Christmas. He had memories of it in the past, and none of them were good. While other children got to spend Christmas with their families, Fidget's mother was always working and he was stuck under the care of that _Taylor_ character. When he was a child on the streets during the Christmas season, he would gaze into the windows of other families members with envy. And while under the tutelage of Captain Lillian Bates, Fidget spent his Christmases in the pub, drinking himself to a stupor so as not to feel sad or enraged. When working for Professor Ratigan, it was no different. And now that everything he once knew was gone, he had been living a clean and sober life ... which made him feel more like a fraud than ever. Deniece witnessed him drinking her wine bottle one night at the table moments before she pulled the bottle away from his hands. Not to mention she _dragged_ him into running errands for this _holiday season_ everyone fussed over. All Fidget wanted was some quiet time to reflect on how to handle matters, but it seemed like every opportunitiy he had to do so he was pulled away from it. Everything was stressing him out. It just wasn't fair! Fidget expressed all this to Father Richards. The priest pensively rubbed his own chin.

"Would it help you best if I explain some of the history behind Christmas to you?"

Did Fidget really _have_ to hear it? He was pretty sure he already knew _some_ of the history, mainly the fact that it's a celebration of the birth of that person Christian refer to as _Our Savior_ or _Jesus Christ_. But the priest _knew_ how Fidget felt about anything church related. In spite of his strong dislike of the matter, Fidget couldn't think of any excuse for his behavior over the past weeks. So he nodded his head for Father Richards to proceed with the history lesson.

"You see, Fidget, it's like this. Mousedom celebrates this time of year the most because it reminds us of that very important value in life. This value is the one value that, if missing, a society would cease to exist."

"And what _value_ is dat?" Fidget asked.

" _Sharing_ , Fidget."

 _Sharing_ , the priest said. _Why_? No one ever _shared_ anything with Fidget. Everyone around him was reaping _all_ of the benefits of Christmas. "I ... don't like to share ..."

Father Richards crossed his arms. Didn't like to share, the bat said? He knew he would have to approach the matter from a different angle. "How has _not_ sharing benefitted _you_?"

"Hmm?" Fidget's ears perked up. "What do you mean?"

"You mentioned a few seconds ago that you don't like to share," Father Richards pointed out. "When was the last time you _tried_ it?"

Fidget placed his left webbed hand behind his head as he pondered on this question. When was the last time Fidget ever shared anything? What _was_ sharing? The only thing that came to mind was his many years of servitude toward Captain Lillian Bates and the Nightwing Pirate crew. Then there were his years of servitude to Professor Ratigan and his gang. He often stole things _for_ them. But Captain Lillian Bates and her pirates left him, and Professor Ratigan threw him out. Then there were those _women_. The voluptuously beautiful but easily irritable Marie Bonaguide who didn't like any of the gifts he stole for her because they weren't _expensive_ enough or _pretty_ enough. She either broke them by throwing them on the ground, or threw them in his face.

Fidget's attention shifted back to Father Richards. "When I used to work for Captain Lillian Bates."

Captain Lillian Bates, eh? Father Richards knew that name too well, but then again who didn't? Of course stealing did _not_ count. Stealing harms mousedom society by taking away their freedom, sharing is to benefit mousedom society. But did Fidget really understand this concept well enough? Father Richards decided to entertain Fidget's thinking a little. After all, the point of all this was to get Fidget to _share more_. "What did you two share?"

" _Food_ ," the bat replied.

"How did you get the food?"

Somehow, that hit a nerve in Fidget. "Well ... no one gave it to me. I had to _steal_ it."

"Oh?"

"Da Captain always told me dat I had to _fight_ for it. Da crew members used to tease me by tossing it back and forth to each udher ... until I got faster and caught it from dhem."

"And how did _they_ get the food?"

Fidget shrugged. "I hadn't t'ought about dat. I guess dhey stole it from somewhere else."

"Did you ever ask them?"

Fidget shook his head. "Dhey yelled at me when I did. I used to ask questions a lot, but I stopped because everyone kept yellin' at me."

 _Aha!_ Father Richards thought. Now he was getting somewhere. "Did Professor Ratigan yell at you too?"

Fidget nodded. " _Everyone_ yelled at me. Even dat ... dat ... _Taylor_ guy my mudher hired after Daddy died. He was _always_ yellin' at me."

Somehow the topic of the conversation seemed to veer away from Christmas. But Father Richards wasn't disappointed. He recalled his conversation with Fidget in Pentonville. He remembered telling Fidget that what he saw in him was a young man with the eyes and heart of a child. Father Richards remembered how Fidget's trembling body loosened and how tears filled the bat's eyes upon hearing the words of wisdom spoken to him. Father Richards already knew why Fidget didn't like to share. Because Fidget equated sharing with being punished. It made Fidget feel weak and vulnerable and he hated feeling that way. Little did the bat realize that what he thought of as weakness was in fact his _true_ character. Just as Deniece la Chauve-souris saw a gentle side to Fidget's gruff exterior, so did Father Richards. The priest's intent in bringing Fidget back into society was to nurture that side and help it grow. And Father Richards was a stubborn mouse by nature. He was a fighter in his _own_ rights.

"Can we ... finish dis ... anudher night, priest?" Fidget uttered, his voice barely audible. The bat was on his knees, staring blankly at the ceiling. "I'm so ... tired ..."

"Then rest, Fidget," Father Richards informed him in a calm voice. The peg-legged bat's body fell onto Father Richard's lap and into a deep slumber. All the fear of Christmas trees, decorations, and the day-to-day pressures of his current family had exhausted Fidget. Father Richards carried the light-weighted bat to his bed and gently placed him there. The priest wrapped the blanket around Fidget's body and rested his hand on Fidget's forehead.

"You're doing well, my son," the priest whispered. " _Believe_ in yourself. You will persevere."

"Mhmm ... what happened?"

Fidget was awake at last. How long had he been asleep. Father Richards sat on the stool next to the bed. But this time it was the priest was asleep.

"Have you been watchin' me da whole time, priest?" Fidget uttered in a whisper. The peg-legged bat pounded his fists on the pillow in frustration. " _Why_ , priest!? _Why_!?"

Father Richards remained undisturbed in spite of the noise Fidget made. But the peg-legged bat's frustration was still unshaken. "You priests _always_ have a way to me feel _bad_. It's not fair!"

But how could Fidget say that about Father Richards. The mouse priest always treated him gently. Father Richards never hit him or beat him, even when Fidget behaved badly. Had other rodents behaved worse than he did toward the old mouse? Is that why the priest looked so haggard and tired? Fidget lowered his head in shame.

"Nuthin' can change you, can it?" Fidget sniffled, feeling water well up in his eyes. "You're always so ... _happy_. Everyone likes you ... you're not scared dat someone could ..." The bat's voice trailed off. He meant to complete the sentence with "do you harm," but even the thought of it made Fidget shudder. "I'm so ... jealous of you. You're _strong_ ... for an _old_ mouse. I wish _I_ were strong."

Fidget was deeply jealous of Father Richards, as he was jealous of the ones who were now his family. How could everyone be so strong to put up with Fidget? The bat gazed out the window. A blizzard had started, and the window pane was nearly covered with snow. Then Fidget looked at his hands. He felt a strong urge to put his hands to good use, but what could he use them for? He couldn't use them to steal, that was for certain. And he couldn't use them to do harm. Both would only result in going back to Pentonville, or worse, being sent to Newgate. The bat didn't have a job yet. But what skills did he have that didn't involve stealing or anything of the sort? He has used them to scrub floors in the past, but he has done this chore so many times that it drove him nuts. And as for any Christmas decorations, the brightness of the glitter hurt his eyes.

Fidget decided it was time for him to leave the house ... but not before waking Father Richards up. He couldn't just leave the priest alone.

"Priest? Priest" Fidget shook Father Richards's shoulders with his webbed hands. "I'm goin' home to da Collins's house. Is dhere anyt'ing you need of me?"

But Father Richards did not stir from his sleep. The priest was not dead, Fidget could tell by the rise and fall of Father Richards's chest. "I guess I really wore you out," Fidget heaved with a sigh of defeat. Fidget ripped out a blank piece of paper from his notebook, wrote a note, and placed it under Father Richards's hand (which rested on his lap).

"You don't have to worry where I've run off to, priest," Fidget whispered. "Dat's da least I could do for you."

Fidget wrapped a thick, hooded coat around him, which was made by Anna Collins. Not long after he walked outside the door, Father Richards slowly opened one eye ... and smiled.

The blizzard began to worsen. Fidget squinted his eyes and shielded them with his left wing, as if to see better, but the fog was too thick. Luckily, he came prepared and held a kerosene lantern in his other webbed hand. All hansoms had stopped coming due to the blizzard. Although the Collins household really wasn't that far, Fidget knew blizzards could make even the house next door seem like a road to drudgery. And to make matters worse, if the sidewalks were icy (and they _were_ ), the risk of slipping on his peg leg were greater. Fidget's mouth was covered with his purple scarf. He couldn't risk getting a bad cold in this kind of weather. And the usual soft shoe he wore on his sole foot was replaced with a black wool sock and boot.

"How am I gonna make it in _dis_ weather!?" Fidget complained, after slipping once on the ice sidewalk. "It's scary enough just to _walk_!"

The peg-legged bat decided to crawl on all fours to prevent slipping. Fidget jolted his knees away quickly as the ice stung them. Luckily the coat Anna made was long enough for him to drape over them. But then their were his mittened hands. As warm as the woolen material kept them, they were no match for the wet snow. Fidget had to pull forward the cuffs of his coat sleeves for extra protection. Then his stomach began to growl. The bat couldn't recall when was the last time he ate something. He must've been too busy with stress over this _Christmas_ stuff to realize that he hadn't eaten anything.

 _I could go back to dat priest's home for food,_ Fidget thought, since he didn't make it too far from the mouse hole on Piccadilly in the first place. But as he recalled, Father Richards was still asleep. The only way he would have to get food is to ... _No_! How _could_ he? Fidget knew there was a reason Father Richards brought up that conversation about _sharing_. And Fidget really thought hard and deeply on the matter. He hasn't really shared anything, only _stole_. Even food he had stolen. It was the reason why Fidget threw a tantrum at a sleeping Father Richards for helping him to better himself. This feeling called guilt was eating him alive at the pit of his stomach. "Oohhh! Why is _sharin'_ so damn _hard_!?"

Fidget's ears wiggled at the sound of children's laughter from a distance. He turned his head over his left shoulder and spotted a group of young boys playing in the snow. Were they ...? Yes, they were! They were those Christmas Carolers that go from door to door to entertain mice with their singing. This time, they were playing in the snow ... and _eating_ it? Yes, the shortest one of the group picked up a ball of snow in his mittened hand and took a bite from it like an apple. Fidget had never seen or heard of such a thing. Eating _snow_!? The same stuff that mice step on with their boots and probably tracked dirt on it!? Fidget winced in repulsion to the idea of it ... until his stomach began to growl again. After a while, he could no longer ignore the hunger pains in his stomach. With his left mittened hand, he scooped up a small helping of snow (which looked pretty clean to him without footprints) and slowly placed it on his tongue. The cold white snowball against his tongue made Fidget wince only a little. But the feel of water quenching his thirst was so soothingly he completely forgot all inhibitions. Fidget knew a snowball wouldn't be enough to satisfy his hunger entirely, but it helped for the moment. And it felt so good in his stomach that he helped himself to another snowball. And another ... and another ...

"'Oy! Why don't you save some for _us_!?"

Fidget dropped the remains of the last snowball on the ground. When he turned his head upward, he noticed eight pairs of eyes staring at him in a laughable manner.

"Why so stingy, guvner? 'Avin' that snow all to ya self when you could split it with us."

Fidget's yellow eyes narrowed to slits. The Christmas Carolers he had come to despise for bringing back painful memories with their songs now surrounded him. And they were demanding him to _share_. He didn't like it one bit. " _Share_ you say?" he replied. " _Why_ , when you have a whole land of snow over dhere?"

Fidget motioned his wing in the direction of the wide terrain of snow the young mice octet stood on moments before pestering him. He was hoping they would simply follow the motion of his wing to get his point across. But it didn't faze the octet one bit, and they just giggled merrily.

"'Oy! You look a lil familiar to me," said the taller member of the group. "Where 'ave I seen you before?"

This made Fidget nervous enough to live up to his name. The Christmas Carolers _knew_ him? How? He didn't know a single one of them at all!

The taller member (assuming he was the leader) reached his hand toward Fidget's hood. The peg-legged bat slapped his hand away in disgust.

"Get away from me!" Fidget retorted. "I don't know who you are and I don't care! All I want to do is to go home!"

Fidget hoped that the octet would get the point this time and leave him in peace. But the bat's hood slipped off his head, which was the intention of the taller mouse to begin with. Upon gazing at the pair of large ears and yellow eyes, the taller mouse's eyes narrowed to slits. "Wait a minute! _Now_ I know 'oo you are!"

 _Uh oh!_ This didn't sound good.

"You're that scrawny lil geezer who murdered me parents!"

" _What!?_ " Fidget gasped. "What are you _talkin'_ about!?"

"Yeah, I remember you too," said the second caroler who stood behind his leader. "You were with that other bat! The one who was white as this snow!"

The _other bat_ this mice mentioned of was Captain Lillian Bates. Who else would he be referring to? But why did these mice accuse Fidget of murdering their parents when he had no idea who these mice or their parents were!? Before Fidget could protest any further, he felt a pull on both his large ears. It was hard enough to make Fidget scream in pain. "What are you _doin'_!?"

While the leader of the carolers pulled the bat's ears from behind, the smallest of the group punched Fidget in the stomach. The second threw a snowball in his face. "Oohh! You little _brats_!" the bat yelled angrily. "I'll call your mudher!"

"What _mother_ , stupid!?" said the leader of the carolers. "You _murdered_ 'er! I wish I _did_ 'ave a mother for someone to tell on me!"

Getting angry from all the rough-housing the Christmas Carolers caused, Fidget growled loudly and bared his fangs. This time, the octet backed away in fright. _Good!_ They finally got the point _this_ time.

"Why do you accuse me!?" Fidget demanded. "I don't know what your parents look like!"

The Christmas Carolers stared at each other confusingly. Then they laughed.

"'Oy! Can this creature play _dumb_!" The leader mocked. "Of course you knew what our parents looked like!"

Fidget shook his head. "No, I _don't_!"

The leader of the Christmas Carolers shook his head in disbelief. "You're lying! I _saw_ you. And you were looking straight at me!"

A scare and confused Fidget stared at the leader of the carolers. Did he ... _really_ know who this mouse was? He knew that whenever these Christmas Carolers sang, it made him crawl out of his skin. Fidget knew the songs brought back bad memories, but until now he concluded that they reminded him of Christmases past that he couldn't be a part of. But was there _more_? This mouse claimed to have seen the bat and that this bat stared right at him. If this were true, why didn't Fidget recognize this mouse?

"You really don't remember, do you?"

Fidget shook his head. Although he was honest in his response, the leader refused to believe him. But Fidget began to quiver as his yellow eyes watched the mouse pull something from his pocket. "If you don't remember me, then I'm sure you'll remember _this_!"

The bat's eyes widened. In cold silence, he stared at what appeared to be a torn blue dress that an old lady would wear. And this was no ordinary blue dress. As Fidget stared blankly at it, memories of the past became vivid. This was the same dress he wore the night he kidnapped Baron Hans von Freirherr in Berlin, Germany. The Baron was a rich, upper class mouse that Captain Lillian Bates despised (then again, the captain despised anyone who was rich or upper class). She had sent Fidget to kidnap him ... and in order to accomplish this, Fidget had disguised himself as an old, feeble woman. But this was in Germany. What did this leader of the carolers had to do with the Baron? And then Fidget remembered something else. As part of his bungling to not get caught by the international police, two young boy mice attempted to stop him. And so did a lovely young lady, the Baron's wife. Baron and Baroness von Freirherr had two sons, both gray-furred like their father, while their mother had a shimmering silver fur. In fear that the children might squeal on him to the international police, Fidget decided to kidnap them and bring them aboard _The Bloody Rose_. But he couldn't manage it all by himself. Luckily for him, Captain Lillian Bates and the crew came to his rescue and brought all prisoners on board. As for the fate of the Baron von Freirherr, Captain Bates decided he should be put to death for his _extramarital_ affairs with other ladies by Spanish Inquisition. Baroness von Freirherr wasn't aware of this until moments before her husband's demise. Captain Bates claimed that the Baron tried to make advances on her, a sin that was unforgivable in her book. The Baroness's fate was to be put to death by tickle torture. Captain Bates thought her to be too frivolous with her fancy dresses and jewelry that she often condescended toward less fortunate girls. Fidget was chosen to be the executioner of the Baroness. Fidget back then was delighted at this, he thought the lady was quite cute and he was feeling a bit horny. The Baroness's fancy dress was removed, she was in her slip, her wrists and ankles were bound so tightly she couldn't move. As for her two sons, they were locked in a brig with a window which they were made to watch. The young Fidget pulled both feathers from his pocket, and just before applying the tips of these feathers upon the soles of her feet he gently pressed his mouth against hers in a passionate kiss. Of course, this didn't mean the feelings were mutual. The Baroness was obviously repulsed by it, but to Fidget it felt good. Slowly gliding the feathers upon her soles in a seductive matter, the poor Baroness resorted to laughing hysterics. The torture was long and painful and just before the Baroness drew her last breath, Fidget turned his head to meet the gaze of the Baroness's eldest son. The bat's eyes narrowed to slits and his smile was wry ... as if to say "Your mother got what she deserved."

That was so long ago. But Fidget had completely blocked it out of his mind. He had seduced women before the Baroness, the first being Marie Bonaguide. The first time, Fidget felt very queasy, he was only an adolescent boy back then. After his second affair with Velvet, Fidget was already desensitized by it and found every sexual opportunity enjoyable. The same went with the torture of innocent victims. Upon doing harm to his first victims, Fidget felt queasy and coped with it by drinking in pubs. Then the more killings and crimes he committed, the more he was used to them. But since his misfortune with Selena Lunarias and his unusual promotion to a more organized crime, his contact with the other gender and chances of torturing victims were very limited. Now he was staring at the face of his accuser ... who in reality was not really accusing, but merely stating the truth. A truth that Fidget had long blocked from his memories. And the von Freiherrs only had two sons. The other six he knew nothing about.

"H-how ... did you ... end up _here_!?" Fidget asked, obviously shivering from head to toe out of fear. Father Richards' warning at Pentonville began to echo in his mind ... _You won't be able to walk the streets without someone pointing a finger at your back._

This time, the leader grabbed Fidget by his collar while the other mice held the bats hands behind his back. "Your _Captain Bates_ decided to _spare_ us," the leader answered, "by dropping us off 'ere in London. Me brother and I were forced to live off the streets."

"And ... dhese udher six?" Fidget implied.

"These six were a sextet of Christmas carolers," the eldest von Freirherr answered. "They sung for the orphanage. They took us in out of kindness and made _me_ their leader."

Fidget freed himself from the mice's grasp. "So now you've become Christmas Carolers," the bat replied defiantly. "Now take your Christmas carols elsewhere and let _me_ go home."

"Why _should_ we?" The von Freiherr mouse insisted. "You did something bad, and we can't let you get away with it."

Fidget crossed his wings nonchalantly. "And what do you plan to do with _me_?" The peg-legged bat half-expected more threats from the carolers. Surprisingly, all eight of them were silent and whispered to each other as if to decide this bat's fate. Fidget took the opportunity to break the silence. "Go ahead! Do your worst! But how would you explain dis to da constable dat walks da streets?"

Fidget wasn't sure why he said that. Such a statement could entice them to do harm, if they had the stomach for it. And if they did their worst, why would Constable Smith care? But the octet of carolers just stood in awkward silence. As much as their caroling drove Fidget mad, the bat knew they were harmless and couldn't hurt anyone even if they wanted to. That's good, he thought. That alone made them stronger and Fidget thought it best to keep it that way.

"Now, if you boys will point me in the direction of 128 Regent Street, I will gladly get out of your sight."

By the time the chaos was over, the blizzard had calmed. A hansom finally arrived, there was no need for the Christmas carolers to do anything. Fidget slowly rose to his foot and peg and hopped aboard. Before the hansom took off, Fidget turned his gaze back at the dumbfounded carolers. "Go home to your new guardians, whoever dhey are. Don't stress dhem out!"

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*All properties of Fidget and _The Great Mouse Detective_ are copyright 1986 by Walt Disney Productions. All pastiches/fanfics are copyright 2002-2016 by Reyelene, _unless stated otherwise_.

The Fidget Library Copyrights & Disclaimer Back to the Palace


	2. Father to Son Talks, Yuletide Tales Walk

**_"Loving is to live, with the power to forgive ..."_ -Kajagoogoo. Recently, I've read the reviews GMD fans have given me on in the past. One that caught my eye was the one posted by MercurysPen for _The Eve I Gained a Son_ about "being less inclined to believe Fidget being able to reform so much." Although I don't always have the time to response to all reviews, it does not mean that I don't take them into consideration. It's because of reviews like these, it helps me to see where I need improvement in my writing. And by improvement, I mean so that they can still get tear-jerk reactions, yet remain enjoyable even years from now. So for this story, I used the same formula as I did with _The Eve I Gained a Son_ , but this time I focused more on the emotional aspect versus the logical one. Fidget, Albert, and Anna are copyright to Disney. All other characters are copyright to Reyelene (me).**

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Father to Son _Talks_ , Yuletide Tales _Walk_**

Fidget arrived safely at the Collins household on Regent Street, shaking off unwanted snow from his coat and wiping his boot on the carpet before going inside (the Collins didn't like wet snow on their floors). Albert and Anna greeted the bat with a warm embrace. But Fidget like a lifeless puppet in his foster parents' arms, wondering if he even _deserved_ their love. How would he tell his foster parents _this_? Then again, should he even _mention_ it?

"We were getting worried!" exclaimed Anna. "We had a terrible blizzard a moment ago."

"I know," Fidget nodded.

Not saying another word, Fidget took off his coat and scarf and placed it on the coat rack. The tired and confused bat scouted the floors, then walked straight to the broom that leaned again the corner. Fidget took to sweeping.

Albert and Anna stared at each other, surprised by Fidget's determination. They clearly remembered when Fidget first arrived at their door step, they had to _make_ him to do chores. It was their way of making sure the bat didn't resort to any _schemes_. Anna was pleased to see Fidget attending to chores _without_ being told. Albert however, was getting worried. Albert used to be a young boy once, and like all other young boys, he got himself into mischief. He knew when boys _busied_ themselves too much with labor, it meant they were suppressing a guilt or misdeed. So what _kind_ of trouble did Fidget get himself into?

It didn't take long to finish sweeping before Fidget went over to clean out the chimney. Anna went into the kitchen to prepare dinner while Albert walk in the direction where Fidget went. Unfortunately, Albert lacked the gift of persuasion Father Richards had. And any persuasion he had was spent on the consolation of his wife for lack of having a child. But Albert was a father _now_ , and it was his fatherly duty to talk to his son. "What's on your mind, Fidget?"

Fidget stopped mid-sweep to turn his attention to his foster father. "Nothing ..." the bat uttered in a meek voice, then proceeded to continue cleaning the chimney.

Albert didn't buy it. "You can't fool me, Fidget. I _know_ something happened. Your voice gives it away."

Fidget jolted, almost dropping the chimney sweeper. He knew he couldn't lie to Albert, but Fidget wasn't so sure he felt like talking right now.

"I also notice some bruises behind your ears," Albert continued. "Who did you get in a fight with?"

Now Fidget was getting annoyed. He had hoped silence and doing chores would give him some time to think before confiding with his foster parents on the events that took place. But Albert was demanding an answer _now_. "I avoid fights," the bat answered, hoping that was satisfying enough.

"Then _explain_ where those bruises came from," Albert replied, this time his voice had a stern edge.

Fidget heaved an exasperated sigh. "I'm tryin' to _avoid_ fights, Dad. I'm sorry, but I don't wanna talk about it."

"You didn't answer my question, Fidget," Albert persisted. "Why don't you just tell the truth-"

"Look, dhose _Christmas Carolers_ did _dhis_ to me!" Fidget snapped. "I didn't want any part of it, but dhey insisted! Dhere, are you happy _now_!?"

"Fidget!" Albert raised his voice, causing the bat to jolt and drop the chimney sweeper on the floor. "Don't you _dare_ speak to me like that! I am your _father_!"

"Look, I didn't want to talk because I knew you'd worry!" Fidget exclaimed. "I'm tryin' _not_ to get into trouble, but trouble likes to find _me_!"

"Apparently, you're not trying _hard_ enough!" Albert pointed out. "What would your mother say if she finds out you got in a fight?"

"I didn't-!"

"Hey, you two! What's going on?"

Anna approached the two men with a dish in one hand and a wash rag in the other. Obviously, Albert and Fidget were loud enough to cause Anna concern. Albert told her that he and Fidget were having a _father to son_ conversation and that Anna needn't worry. Anna insisted that Albert tell her more, but Albert put his foot down and insisted his wife allow them to talk in private. Heaving a sigh of disappointment, Anna returned to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. Albert motioned his hand in the direction of the bedroom upstairs where Fidget slept. The bat growled in frustration as he followed his foster father's order and childishly walked up the stairs.

As anticipated, the sensitive conversation continued.

"Why did you lie to me, Fidget?"

"I'm _not_!"

"When I asked you what happened, your answer was _'nothing_ '. Then you tell me those Christmas Carolers were the ones who gave you those bruises. Which is it?"

"Dad, I don't want to talk about it!"

" _Which is it_ , Fidget?"

"I ran into some Christmas Carolers! One of dhem accused me of murderin' his parents, dhen he pulled my ears!"

Albert crosses his arms in a serious manner. "This is nothing to brush aside, Fidget. Why would _Christmas Carolers_ come after you?"

Fidget cringed as tried very hard to conceal the details of what happened on _The Bloody Rose_. But Albert would not rest until he got some answers.

"Young folks _never_ attack unprovoked, Fidget," Albert pointed out. Fidget still kept his mouth closed, still wanting to block away the bad memories. But the bat was failing, and Albert could sense it. "I don't know what happened, but something you did or said _provoked_ them. And only _you_ know what that was."

"Dhey were provoked when my hood was removed!" Fidget replied in a mocking tone. "Da eldest one tried to remove it, dhen I slapped his hand away. But my hood fell anyway; when he saw my face, he began accusin' me!"

"Why did you slap his hand away, Fidget?" Albert asked.

"Because dhey wouldn't leave me alone! All I wanted to do was come home; dhey all _stared_ at me and laughed at me!"

"You could've just _ignored_ them," Albert told Fidget. "If they wanted to look and laugh, just _let_ them."

Fidget now trembled with anger. His foster father taking _their_ side! "I DON'T LIKE BEIN' LAUGHED AT!"

"Finnius Andrew Holloway, you are acting like a child!"

"PLEASE STOP! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ANYMORE!"

"What is going on!?" a voice interrupted.

A knock on the bedroom door followed. It was Anna on the other side. The two men must've been very loud in their father/son _talk_ because Anna was getting very concerned. She opened the door to see what the commotion was. "Are you two _fighting_?" Albert did not respond, but Anna noticed that Fidget was trembling very badly. The look on the bat's face was a mixture of anger and torture. "Albert, are you _antagonizing_ him?"

"I'm teaching our _son_ to act like a man," Albert responded. "Father Richards trusted us with Fidget and asked us to be his _parents_. I want us to make good on that promise."

"I agree, husband," Anna replied. "But isn't this going too far? The boy _is_ trying his hardest. He did his chores on his own. You saw with your own eyes."

"It's not about the chores, Anna," Albert replied. "It's about taking criticism in a responsible way."

"But he's already overworked, Albert," Anna insisted, placing her hand on Fidget's shoulder. "Just _look_ at him! We've been hard on him these past weeks and it's _torturing_ him!"

"He has to toughen up, Anna!" Albert insisted. "Why he is like this is because we've sheltered him from _life's cruelties_ too much. He needs to stand up for himself and be _strong_!"

" _PLEASE STOP_!" Fidget cried, just before his yellow eyes rolled back in despair. He fell faintly to his knees before landing on his left side upon the floor.

"Drink this, Finnius?"

Fidget rubbed his eyes and woke up to the smell of chicken soup. Anna placed the small mug in Fidget's hands and watched as he drank it. The glossiness in his yellow eyes disappeared and he was healthy once again. Anna sat right at the foot of the bed while Albert sat on a stool next to Fidget's right side. Albert sat in silence with a frown as Anna frowned back at him.

"I _told_ you not to push him too hard, Albert."

"How was I supposed to know our son was _starving_ , Anna?"

"Fidget clearly insisted that you leave him alone. Why didn't you acknowledge that?"

"I was teaching Fidget _responsibility_ , Anna!"

"Eh, heh, heh ... _Please_ stop, you two!" Fidget pleaded nervously. He didn't like it when the two fought, especially when it was for _his_ sake. And they were getting old, Fidget couldn't stand to see them strain themselves at their age.

The two elderly mice couple looked back at Fidget, shocked by his last response. Small beads of sweat trickled down the back of Fidget's head as he gazed at the surprised expressions of his foster parents. He knew he was crossing the line, so he turned his face away and said no more.

The next evening, Fidget visited Father Richards once again. This time however, it was not to engage in any scholarly tasks. Fidget was helping Father Richards with chores. Father Richards originally insisted on doing it himself, but Fidget was adamant about having something to do with his hands. The bat hoped Father Richards didn't mind.

"Your foster father called me earlier," Father Richards began. "He said you had a struggle with some Christmas Carolers."

Fidget winced. The peg-legged bat wanted to bring up the matter himself, but his foster father did it _for_ him. It slightly annoyed Fidget. "Um, yeah about dat ..." Fidget proceeded to tell Father Richards of the situation that entailed his encounter between himself and the Christmas Carolers. As usual, Father Richards approached the matter with probing questions.

"So these carolers accused you of murder. How did _that_ make you feel, Fidget?"

The very thought of the matter made Fidget _cringe_ with terror. Images of the past when he tortured Baron von Freiherr's wife came back to haunt him. "Well ... I didn't know what he was _talkin'_ about. I guess I was _shocked_."

"And how true _was_ their accusation?" Knowing the fact that Fidget was no innocent, Father Richards bore no hesitation in asking this kind of question.

 _How true was the accusation_ , the priest asked? As a young and promiscuous adolescent, Fidget derived pleasure in torturing the Baroness when he kissed her so passionately on the lips before performing her untimely execution. Back then, he felt that folks more fortunate than him deserved to be tortured for _not sharing_ with the less fortunate. But did that thought hold true still?

"Um ... " Fidget smiled guiltily as his large ears drooped.

 _So it was true_ , Father Richard thought. He could see it in the beads of sweat on Fidget's head. "Would you care to explain the details of this _murder_ you committed?"

That was the _last_ thing Fidget wanted to do. How could he explain the perverse pleasure he derived in torturing the Baroness to the priest!? And Fidget once believe that the Baron and his wife deserved the execution they received. But did he believe because that was what he truly felt, or was it because of Captain Bates's influence? And how could he omit certain details he wasn't ready to share yet?

"We ... we were in Germany," Fidget began in a hesitant tone. "Captain Bates worked at dis pub dhere. She ran into dis ... _Baron_. She ordered _me_ to kidnap him so she could execute him."

"Did this _Baron_ have any children?"

Fidget nodded. "Two sons."

"Where was his wife in all this?"

Fidget hesitated. He had hoped Father Richards would not bring up the subject of the wife. "She ... I brought her on da Bloody Rose too."

Father Richards was curious about the part where Captain Lillian Bates wanted the Baron executed. "Why was your captain so dead set in eliminating the Baron?"

"She said he was makin' advances on her. And he was havin' multiple affairs."

"How do you _know_ this, Fidget?"

Fidget gulped ... "Well, da Baron admitted it while he was bein' tortured."

"And how did _that_ concern you?"

The peg-legged bat gulped nervously at the matter. He began to feel a bit queasy. "She ... we ... Da Rightwing Pirates ..."

Father Richard nodded for Fidget to continue.

"Da Nightwing Pirates stood for fightin' injustice."

Father Richards chuckled. _Fighting injustice_ , the bat said? _Engaging in tyranny_ was the correct answer.

"Fidget, when is it _ever_ justified to take a life?"

Once again, Fidget's body tightened into a convulsion like it did at the Collins house. Repeatedly, the images of Baron von Freiherr's execution and his wife's demise flooded his head. Not to mention, Fidget also recalled the evening he and Deniece got into a fight and he came to Westminster Abbey out of desperation. Something that Father Richards once told him as Fidget confessed his crimes to the priest began to echo ... _Many of those mice were someone else's mother or father too. They also had children, waiting for their parents to come home and take them fishing too_. No truer words could be spoken than these. But this thought never even occurred to Fidget. As a pirate, he was caught up in the _thrill_.

"Priest, I don't wanna talk about dis anymore," Fidget pleaded.

"You may not want to talk about it, Fidget, but you cannot avoid it," Father Richards pointed out. "What if those Christmas Carolers come back?"

"I'll ... t'ink of somethin' ..."

Father Richards had sent Fidget out on a mission to gather fire wood ... but not before helping Fidget pack food and drink for the journey. Since Fidget passed out from hunger at the Collins household, he was better prepared this time.

Luckily, the snowfall was light and no signs of blizzards. Fidget rubbed his chin with his mittened hand, scouting with his yellow eyes for the perfect spot to find sticks. As he headed in the direction of what looked like a forest ( _anything_ with bushes were forests on a rodents' scale). As he walked in that direction, he was briefly halted by a faint, but sweet sound:

 _"Whose woods these are, I think I know.  
His house is in the village though ..."_

Fidget continued in the direction of that soft sound.

 _"... He will not see me stopping near  
To watch his woods fill up with snow ..."_

Fidget clutched his hand to his chest as the sound of this unfamiliar song echoed. Somehow, it made Fidget feel ... afraid, and yet _peaceful_ at the same time. It was just as if he was listening to the sound of Deniece's voice all over again. Only this time, it wasn't Deniece who sang. It was a choir.

"Oy! It's that _creature_ again!"

Fidget's footsteps came to an abrupt halt. As if awakened from slumber, Fidget's yellow eyes darted left and right to spot the owner of that cry. And he _did_ spot him. It was that von Freiherr eldest born, his little brother, and the rest of the Christmas Carolers.

"What are _you_ doin' 'ere!?" cried the von Freiherr leader.

"Lookin' for fire wood," Fidget replied in a slightly annoyed tone. " _What else_?"

"Well, you're not invited 'ere!" von Freiherr retorted. "We don't invite murderers 'ere!"

"Where else can I find some?" Fidget asked.

"We don't care!" von Freiherr cried. "Just _be off_ with you!"

"I'm sorry, but I can't do dat," Fidget replied. "I came for fire wood, and dhere is none anywhere else."

"You force yourself where you're not wanted, creature, and we'll make you regret it!"

One would think Fidget would acknowledge this word of warning after the talks between himself, the Collins couple, and Father Richards. But Fidget was determined to get some fire wood and he wasn't leavin' until he'd find some. After all, he was getting it for the priest, not himself. So Fidget continued to walk in the direction of the forest, causing the von Freiherr eldest to cry out in anger and send the other Christmas Carolers to grab Fidget.

"Do your worst, as I said," Fidget replied in a taunting manner, only moments before one could lay a hand on him. "Will dat stop udhers from doin' harm?"

The Christmas Carolers at stared at each other in awkward silence. But von Freiherr broke the silence.

"That is not the point, creature!" the eldest mouse continued. "It doesn't change the fact that I saw _you_ end me mother's life."

That last comment hit a nerve, making Fidget angry. He was only lucky too much of his anger was spent back the Collins household for him to lash out at this _child_. But it didn't stop von Freiherr's little brother from grabbing Fidget's wings and forcing them behind the bat's back.

"You _know_ I speak the truth, creature," von Freiherr pointed out. "We're not afraid of you and we will call the police if we have to."

 _Why bother telling the police what they already know_ was what the now intimidated Fidget wanted to say. But knowing Constable Smith, he would most likely believe Fidget was causing a new kind of disturbance among the folks in mousedom and would never hesitate to throw him in jail. So Fidget kept his mouth shut and swallowed his pride.

"I told you once that we can't let you get away with doing something bad," von Freirherr confronted Fidget in an authoritative manner. "You know we will have to punish you. _Do your worst_ , you say? You won't be so bold after we get through with _you_."

"So what are you going to do with 'im, Rolfe?" asked the smallest mouse of the group. This mouse, by the way, was named Paul Triste. Paul was a gentle, but meek little mouse who would never think ill of anyone. And he was staring pitifully into Fidget's yellow eyes, which were now filled with fear. The peg-legged bat couldn't understand why, but something about Paul Triste's last comment brought back a memory. _What are you going to do with them?_ a young Fidget used to say to Captain Lillian Bates as she was teaching the young bat to kill his first victim.

"We're going to teach this bat a lesson, Paul," the mouse called _Rolfe_ answered. "Remember when Hans and I once told you that you must never do bad things to your fellow mouse or any creature? Well, you're soon going to see _why_."

Fidget was pulled in the direction of the woods by Hans as he and the rest followed Rolfe. Paul Triste was looking up at Fidget as he followed behind, looking quite concerned for the bat's safety. Being the youngest of the group, Paul knew too well what it was like to get in trouble with Rolfe. But he also remembered Rolfe once told him that mice who commit crimes toward other mice face the punishment of death. And he noticed that Fidget was trembling very badly from head to foot as he was dragged by the other mice. Paul may have punched the bat in the stomach the other day because he assumed the others' anger toward Fidget was a justified anger. At least, that is what they claimed. But ... that didn't mean he wanted the bat to die.

"You're ... not going to kill 'im ... Are you, Rolfe?" Paul asked.

"No Paul, I will not," Rolfe assured him in a brotherly tone of voice. Secretly, Rolfe couldn't stand the sight of the bat and wished the creature were dead. But murder was against the law. His parents always taught him that, especially his mother. If a mouse copied another mouse's vices, that mouse was doomed to becoming what he hates. And what kind of example would he be setting for little Paul Triste if he did such a thing? Rolfe bluff about calling the police was to put Fidget on the spot, but he had no intention of going through with it. What if the creature ever managed to escape only to prow the streets again? Rolfe knew a punishment like that wasn't good enough, especially the way London's prison system had worked. He and the other mice discussed the matter in case they were ever to run into Fidget again. The only way to avenge his parents' deaths was to make Fidget suffer for his misdeeds. And he knew just how to do it. "We're just going to punish him. After this night, he will never do harm to anyone else ever again."

It wasn't long before they were in the woods, hidden from public view. But it wasn't to collect fire wood. Lying on the ground was a log which the other mice tied Fidget to so he couldn't escape. His wrists were bound behind his back with one set of ropes while the upper half of his body was tied to the log, leaving Fidget completely immobile ... except for his legs. What kind of punishment was that Rolfe character talking about? Before Fidget could say anything, he was caught off guard with Rolfe standing no more than two feet away from him.

"Your crimes against our parents are worthy of _death_!" Rolfe said angrily as he shook his fists in front of Fidget's face. "If Paul wasn't present and if I wasn't such a law-abiding mouse, I would've already 'ad you dead on the spot! But _this_ will have to do instead!" Soon after this was said, Rolfe beckoned Hans over to come at his side. Rolfe's brother withdrew two wooden paddles from his pocket and handed each one to two of the carolers who now flanked Fidget's lower half. Beads of sweat trickled down the bat's face and he felt his body tremble non-stop. He didn't like to be punished. Then he felt something tugging at his trousers. One of the mice pulled down his trousers, while the other one pulled down his underwear. His backside was now bare and exposed. What was going on!?

"Look at us, creature!" Hans demanded. "Look at both of us! Think really hard about what you did as you are being punished."

With the gesture of Hans's hand, the two carolers began paddling Fidget's bare backside. It finally dawned on the poor bat what the punishment was ... a spanking on his bare bottom.

"Ow, ow, ow!" Fidget cried as he struggled in a failed attempted to free himself. But the mice had tied him up too well that he couldn't move. And his legs jerked up each time the paddles struck his exposed backside. Fidget remembered Rolfe telling Paul that he was going to _show him why_ it was wrong to do bad things. The peg-legged bat was being made an example for young Paul. Rolfe knelt down to Fidget's eye level as the bat's backside was taking a beating. The bat closed his eyes to avoid having to look at Rolfe ... but Rolfe wouldn't have any of it and pulled on Fidget's left ear to make the bat's eyes jerk open again.

"You think I'm going to let you off that easy?" Rolfe uttered in a low voice filled with an anger that made Fidget feel ten times smaller than his own height. "Didn't Hans tell you to _look_ at us!?"

"Why-ow-are you-ouch-doin' dis-OW!" Fidget struggled to say. "Your fight-OW-is with _me_ -OUCH! Why does-OW, OW-dat boy have to-OUCH-be involved-OW, OW, OW!"

"Do you really have to ask me that, creature!?" Rolfe uttered through gritted teeth. "Did you honestly think that what you did is _acceptable_!?"

"I-OUCH-never said dat-OW-it was-OW, OW, OW!"

"Paul is the spitting image of us," Hans added. "We saw the world through Paul's eyes once before _you_ murdered our parents! 'Is presence should serve you as a reminder of how you ruined the innocence two children!"

"'Ow does it feel now, creature!?" Rolfe continued to speak, still maintaining that quiet anger in his tone of voice. "'Ow does it feel to be on the suffering end!? Was our mother's suffering worth the Captain's weight in gold!?"

"You 'ave shamed yourself before the eyes of young men, creature," Hans said to Fidget. "You 'ave caused us great pain as you 'ave given our mother a painful death, ruining her dignity. Now you will 'ave to live with that pain."

Fidget's lack of pride was now spiraling out of control as he was getting the punishment of his life. The bat never liked being on the punishing end. He used to believe that it was best to punish others before one would get punished. Alas, that belief did not serve him well now. Once again, Fidget was on the punishing end. And his sitting spot was now glowing as red as a flame. And the two mice were hitting him so hard, Fidget never realized how delicate and sensitive he was compared to these mice. And they were showing no signs of it stopping.

"It's no fun being punished, is it?" Hans said to Fidget with crossed arms. "It must be torture, all these eyes staring at you as you're being punished."

And indeed it was. As these words were spoken in reminder of the terrible misdeed he had done, Fidget's yellow eyes were brimmed with tears. He was trying to force them back for fear of looking weaker than he already did.

"You see this, Paul?" Rolfe said to Paul Triste as he pointed in the direction of the bat. "This is what 'appens when a man does bad things to his fellow men. 'E gets the whipping of 'is life."

"When are you going to stop?" Paul asked as he witnessed the poor bat's tears creating another River Thames upon the snow. It wasn't long before Fidget's attempt to hold back his tears had failed. The bat's mind was already reduced to that of a child as these children were giving him the spanking of his life. How embarrassing this was for the poor bat. Grown ups were supposed to be the ones to spank children, not the other way around!

"Don't be naive, Paul," von Freiherr, whom Paul referred to as _Rolfe_ , spoke with a stern tone of authority. "I know you're feeling pity for this creature, but 'e is no innocent. 'E _knows_ what 'e did was wrong."

Fidget _hated_ crying, but he couldn't help it. Rolfe von Freiherr was telling sweet, innocent little Paul the truth. What Fidget once thought he was doing as a just cause for Captain Bates, was in reality a crime toward society. The only thoughts that raced through Fidget's mind as his burning backside continued to get paddled was how stupid he was for believing in such bad ideas without question. And all the name of _servitude_ to the same Captain that never really liked him because he happened to be _male_.

"No more ..." Fidget spoke in a barely audible voice. The stress of being exposed for the coward he truly was (as well as everything else) had robbed him of any strength and pride he had left. "I ... s-surrender ... No more ..."

"I think the creature has learned his lesson," Hans told Rolfe. "We should stop now."

"I agree," Rolfe replied as he gestured his hand for the two mice to stop. They obeyed immediately and handed the two paddles back to Hans. "Untie him."

The bonds that held Fidget to the log were finally loosened and Fidget could move again. He allowed himself to slide onto his knees just before burying his face in crossed wings ... and he wept bitterly like a wounded child. His bare bottom was still exposed, he could've taken the opportunity to pull his trousers back up. But Fidget was too ashamed to look at anyone or do anything at the moment. His backside burned so badly and he couldn't get over the many pairs of eyes that watched him as his sitting spot was struck.

"Stand up, creature," Rolfe demanded.

The poor bat guiltily rose himself to a standing position, turning his head away. His back was arched forward as he sniffled, rubbing his sore bottom with his hands.

"We did not say you could look away!" Rolfe snapped, causing Fidget to jerk his face forward. "And for God's sake, pull up your trousers!"

Fidget did not hesitate to do as the young mouse commanded, wincing only a little as he pulled up both his underwear and trousers to cover his abused bottom. In all his shame and embarrassment, he wasn't paying attention to his trousers. Rolfe approached the shaken bat, he was now only three inches away from the creature. "So, tell me now, creature. Was it really worth it, stealing the life of one's mother and leaving her two children to die?"

Fidget closed his tear-filled eyes shut for a moment and shook his head before looking back at Rolfe again. There was only one right answer in this situation, and the answer was _no_.

"A wise answer, creature," Rolfe replied. "Now, be off with you!"

Rolfe, Hans, and the other mice turned away to leave Fidget by himself. The peg-legged bat fell to his knees, still weeping. Then he felt something tug on his coat sleeve, causing him to jerk away. The poor bat saw that Paul Triste stood right in front of him ... and the child held up a handkerchief with both hands. "'Ere you go, sir," Paul uttered in a soothing voice.

In a slow, puppet-like manner, Fidget accepted the handkerchief. The poor bat mopped his cheeks, then blew his nose.

"Rolfe and Hans are not mean mice," Paul assured the bat, almost sounding wise for a mouse of his age. "Just be good."

As Fidget looked in Paul's direction, he was reminded of what he _used_ to be _before_ he became involved with crime. A grown man should be someone a young boy would look up to with dignity and respect, but the situation seemed reversed. Fidget was just too deeply ashamed of what he did to the von Freirherr brothers, not because his sitting spot was sore but because he knew deep down he deserved that punishment. As much as he wanted to deny it, his behavior toward their mother was extremely perverse, he didn't know what he was thinking at the time.

"Paul, what are you doing!?"

Both Paul and Fidget jerked their heads in the direction of that voice. It was Rolfe, with Hans and the others following behind. And he looked very displeased. "Why are you speaking to that creature!? Stay away from him and come back to the cabin!"

"You should ... listen to what ... your leader says ..." Fidget told Paul in a soft voice. "I'm a complete louse."

" _You_ stay out o' this!" Rolfe reacted, hearing Fidget's last comment. "I don't want _you_ to influence Paul in any way. Paul's a good boy and I want to _keep_ 'im that way."

"I'm _not_ influencin' him," Fidget replied. "I wouldn't dream of it. He is a good boy, as you say. Why change him?"

Rolfe von Freiherr began to seethe angrily through his teeth. He was obviously offended. "And _you_ cannot influence _me_ either! As I told _you_ , we don't invite murderers or _any_ criminals!"

"I don't think 'e wants to 'urt Paul, Rolfe," Hans pointed out, noticing the sadness still in Fidget's yellow eyes. "'E looks too embarrassed to do anything at the moment."

"Are you _mad_ , Hans!? This is the same bat that kidnapped us, made us watch our parents die, then threw us 'ere to meet the same fate! We don't owe him any kindness, Hans!"

"Rolfe, no one is saying that we owe him anything," Hans told him, a surprised look on his face in regards to his elder brother's demeanor. "And Paul didn't do anything bad. 'E just gave the bat a 'andkerchief."

"I'm ... not askin' for kindness," Fidget managed to say to the two mice. A slight touch of courage had returned to his voice again. "And I have no quarrel with your little Paul. I just came out for fire wood."

"You see, Rolfe?" Hans said to his brother, gesturing his hand in Fidget's direction. "'E can do no 'arm. Any attempts on 'is part would be too clumsy and stupid."

Rolfe wanted to strike his little brother for babbling such madness. But he steadied his hand after looking at Fidget once again, and realized that his brother spoke truth in his words.

"Very well," Rolfe replied. "We shall let the bat go and _gather_ 'is fire wood as 'e claims. Just as long as 'e doesn't bother us."

Hans smiled at his brother. "Your decision is wise brother, as it is always. Besides ..." at this point, Hans lowered his voice so only his big brother could hear, "... it'll buy us time to watch 'im in case 'e does follow."

What Hans didn't realize was that bats have incredibly acute hearing, thus Fidget did hear him say _it would buy us time to watch 'im in case 'e does follow_. The last thing Fidget wanted to do was inconvenience the Von Freirherr brothers in any way. They had that small child, Paul, who they were teaching him how to be good. Fidget realized that he was beginning to like Paul Triste, even though he _personally_ hated children. It was as if some candle in his once dark heart was lit when Paul offered him the handkerchief to forget about his sore bottom. It felt peaceful and warm; Fidget wanted to hold on to that feeling. It was the best thing that happened to him so far in spite of all this _Christmas_ stuff.

Rolfe, Hans, and the rest of the mice stopped in the tracks when they realized that Fidget had not moved a muscle from his spot. "What are you waitin' for!?" Rolfe asked, surprised that the peg-legged bat hadn't left yet. "You're free to go. Do as you wish."

"I'm too tired to move at da moment," Fidget replied. "Don't worry, I won't _follow you_. Just _ignore_ me."

Both Rolfe and Hans jolted in surprise. The bat actually _heard_ them!? All eight Christmas carolers stared at each other awkwardly. Have they misjudged the bat? Or was he saying something to make them feel pity for him?

" _Ignore_ you?" Rolfe repeated. " _Why_ , creature?"

"And my name is not _creature_!" Fidget retorted. "My name is _Finnius_. But you can call me _Fidget_ if you like. Dat's what everyone else calls me."

Rolfe and Hans gazed at each other, confused by this bat's sense of character. This was the same bat who seemed to enjoy himself at the humiliating demise of their mother, and yet ... something about him seemed _different_. Since the mice really had nothing important to do at the moment, they decided to entertain the bat a little. Maybe they could get some useful information out of him (like something about a wicked scheme, perhaps).

"You said you were lookin' for fire wood, _Mr. Fidget_ ," Rolfe mentioned. " _'Oo_ are you fetchin' fire wood for?"

"Dat priest from Westminster Abbey who came to my trial," Fidget answered. "Father Richards."

"Wait a minute!" Rolfe exclaimed in surprise. "You _know_ Father Richards?"

Fidget nodded. "I just came from his house."

Rolfe and Hans von Freirherr could hardly credit their ears. They _knew_ Father Richards. The priest was the one who found them to begin when they were struggling to survive. Father Richards was well known for helping folks in need. And Father Richards was no fool. He did not believe in the fantasies of heretics. He was a mouse who loved science and the pursuit of knowledge. He believed that anyone, regardless of species or social status, could further improve themselves on the basis of hard work and dedication to knowledge. If this Fidget character was gathering fire wood for Father Richards, as he _claimed_ , then it meant he was under Father Richards's tutelage. And Rolfe had witnessed Father Richards turn criminals around with his own eyes, even though Rolfe himself didn't want to engage in such practices.

"Hans," Rolfe said, breaking the silence. "Show Mr. Fidget where there is fire wood in abundance."

Hans von Freirherr approached Fidget, who had finally rose to his foot and peg. The mouse waved his arm in an upward motion, beckoning Fidget to follow him, completely the opposite of what the mice originally wanted. The peg-legged bat was confused and wanted to ask why the Von Freirherr brothers changed their mind, but chose not to for fear of risking Rolfe's anger again. The peg-legged bat accepted the offer.

Unlike the Nightwing Pirates, these Christmas Carolers seemed like good children. As they walked through the wintry woods, Paul Triste curiously walked by Fidget's side. Now this was curious. What was little Paul so interested in Fidget for?

"Where are you from, sir?" Paul asked inquisitively.

"Here, in London," Fidget replied.

"'Ow did you know about Rolfe and Hans?"

Fidget didn't answer this little boy's question, pressed his index finger against his lips to tell the child to be quiet. He didn't want to lose sight of Hans or the others as it felt like another blizzard was coming. And he didn't want little Paul to get in trouble with Rolfe.

It didn't take long before Hans found a huge pile of wood that one of the other carolers already cut off with an axe. Upon listening to the conversations exchanged between them, the Christmas carolers were gathering fire wood for themselves and they had cut more than what they needed. The extra was handed to Fidget. Although he would've preferred to do the work himself, Fidget didn't want to give the Von Freirherr brothers the impression of being ungrateful. After all, had he not mention the name of Father Richards, someone they already knew and trusted, he didn't know how long it would've taken him to find the fire wood on his. And that feeling of peace and warmth that Fidget had for Paul Triste never left. Fidget couldn't tell what was happening, but somehow this feeling felt ... _right_.

"I ... know I don't deserve your kindness," Fidget uttered in a humbled manner, "but ... I feel I should repay you both, somehow."

"We generally ask our guests to visit our 'ome so we can entertain them with song," Hans replied. "But that all depends on Rolfe."

Rolfe happened to be in earshot. "Since you know Father Richards, Mr. Fidget, I am rather curious to know what your plans are."

Fidget expected as much. "I don't have any plans. All I want to do is to help out in any way I can. Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

"Next time we meet, I want to know _why_ you killed our parents."

Fidget nodded humbly. "It shall be done."

Just before Fidget turned away, he momentarily placed the fire wood on the ground to pull out his bag of provisions. It had been hiding in his coat pocket the whole time. He untied the sack and placed it on the snow covered ground. It was full of meat pies, cheeses, and bread. The Christmas carolers stared in awe at the abundance of food Fidget had given them.

"Father Richards gave dis to me," Fidget told them. "I only brought it because I didn't know how long it would take to find fire wood. I guess I really didn't need it."

"Why are you giving us _all_ of it, Mr. Fidget?" Rolfe asked in a curious manner. "You don't even 'ave a morsel for yourself."

Fidget smiled. "You once saw me eatin' snow and asked why I didn't save some for you. I think you'll find dis more satisfyin' than snow."

Upon returning to Father Richards's house with the fire wood, Fidget told the priest what had happened ... including the part where he got punished (as embarrassing as it was).

"Well, that explains why you're walking so stiffly," Father Richards observed.

"Oh?" Fidget turned his head away. "It shows dat much?"

"Oh yes, it does," Father Richards replied, giving the bat a curious look. "You're not ... _too_ embarrassed, _are_ you?"

"I am," Fidget confessed, rubbing his backside. "I don't t'ink I'll be able to sit for a week."

"Well, I wouldn't dwell on it too much, if I were you," Father Richards assured him, placing a hand on Fidget's shoulder. "You're lucky it wasn't one of Ratigan's gang, or worse ... losing your other leg and breaking your other wing."

Fidget sighed. "I know ... but it still hurts." The mouse priest gave Fidget a curious look that made the bats ears flick back in a timid manner. "You're t'inkin' I have _no right_ to complain because I _deserved_ it, _right_?"

"I didn't say that," Father Richards replied.

"Yeah, but you were t'inkin' it."

"Oh Fidget, you worry too much," the mouse priest chuckled, patting Fidget firmly but gently on the back. "It's not _permanent_. That wound will heal very quickly. _And_ you've made quite an impression on Rolfe, giving him, his brother, and his friends all the provisions without leaving a morsel for yourself. Rolfe is not an easy mouse to deal with."

 _Tell me about it_ , Fidget thought with an eye roll as he rubbed his bottom once again ... which was now only a dull discomfort rather than the stinging flame it was earlier. The bat blinked in surprise. The priest was right! It _did_ heal quickly!

"You told me Rolfe and Hans _helped_ you to find fire wood," Father Richards continued as he tossed pieces of fire wood in the fireplace; Fidget was watching him. "How did you _feel_ about that?"

"Well, I would've preferred findin' it _myself_ ," the peg-legged bat answered. "But ... it was generous of dhem to give me wood from dheir pile. Dat's why I gave dhem da provisions."

A smile flickered across Father Richards's mustached face. " _Now_ you're getting a better understanding of how the system _works_ , Fidget."

Although Fidget smiled on the outside, he couldn't erase this deep need in his soul. "Still ... I wish I could do _more_. I don't t'ink I really gave dhem enough. And ... dat little boy, Paul ... I ... want to see him again."

"Ah, the youngest of the carolers," Father Richards replied. "Rolfe is very protective of him, as he was with his own brother, Hans."

"I know," Fidget replied. "Priest, I ... I never really liked children, but ... each time I see Paul, I ... I'm reminded of ... _myself_ ... _before_ my Papa was killed ..."

Words could not express the delight Father Richards felt about Fidget's improvement. The priest's little plot was to get Fidget to share more, and it was taking full effect. The bat that all of mousedom thought could never be brought back to society was proving the world wrong. Fidget was finding his own way in the world and it wouldn't be long before his debt to society would be paid in full and any memories of his past crimes would cease to exist. But Father Richard's didn't want to tell Fidget that. To do so would be robbing him of any chances to _continue_ improving. And the influences of Captain Lillian Bates and Professor Ratigan, as well as those heretic mice who killed his parents, already robbed him of his childhood.

"And it sounds like _Paul_ has taken a fancy to you," Father Richards assured him.

"Yeah, but _Rolfe_ won't let me," Fidget replied with a heavy sigh. "He _hates_ me ... I ... don't blame him ..."

"Believe it or not, Fidget, you and Rolfe are a lot alike."

 _What!?_ Was this a jest, Fidget wondered?

"Fidget, I've _known_ Rolfe ever since I found him and his brother on the streets," Father Richards informed him. "Rolfe is very hard-headed and likes to feel like he is in charge of everything, sometimes to the point of getting himself into trouble. Hans, his little brother, serves as Rolfe's voice of reason. Hans even told me secrets that he wouldn't dare tell his elder brother ... _including_ the scandalous affairs Baron von Freirherr got himself involved with."

"What!?" Fidget exclaimed. "S-so ... you _knew_ dat Baron von Freirherr had dhose affairs!?"

Father Richards gave a heavy sigh of sadness. "I was never there when it happened, but it grieved me deeply when Hans told me the details. Not all marriages are filled with happiness, Fidget. Some couples end up in _loveless_ marriages. And the ones who suffer most are their children. Hans told me he confronted his father about it, but Baron von Freirherr threatened to beat him if he told anyone. He tried to tell Rolfe, unfortunately Rolfe didn't believe him. Rolfe was very attached to his father and thought his father could _do no wrong_. I could only imagine the burden that had fallen upon Hans's little shoulders."

Fidget began to shake from head to foot ... out of _anger_. "Dat Baron ... he sounds too much like dat ... _Taylor_ character my mudher hired ... I ... _hate_ people like dat ...!"

" _Hatred_ is the _basis_ of loveless marriages, Fidget," Father Richards told him. "No good ever comes of it."

"Dhen why dhese t'ings make me feel so _angry_!?" Fidget asked, unable to control the rage he felt that caused him to shake.

"That is exactly what Hans used to ask me," Father Richards answered, acknowledging the fact that Fidget had a legitimate basis for his own anger, even if his situation was different from that of Rolfe's and Hans's. "And I will tell you _exactly_ what I told _him_ : Honor the man who has the authority, but do _not_ copy his vices."

As if those words were some kind of spell, Fidget's rage changed instantly to awe and bewilderment. He never thought of it _that_ way. He wondered ... was _that_ what his mother wanted to tell him before those heretic priests killed her?

"It's getting late, Fidget," the priest urged him. "You should share your discoveries with your foster parents and Deniece at once! They will want to hear this!"


	3. Yuletide Tales Continued

**_"Loving is to live, with the power to forgive ..."_ -Kajagoogoo. Recently, I've read the reviews GMD fans have given me on in the past. One that caught my eye was the one posted by MercurysPen for _The Eve I Gained a Son_ about "being less inclined to believe Fidget being able to reform so much." Although I don't always have the time to response to all reviews, it does not mean that I don't take them into consideration. It's because of reviews like these, it helps me to see where I need improvement in my writing. And by improvement, I mean so that they can still get tear-jerk reactions, yet remain enjoyable even years from now. So for this story, I used the same formula as I did with _The Eve I Gained a Son_ , but this time I focused more on the emotional aspect versus the logical one. Fidget, Albert, and Anna are copyright to Disney. All other characters are copyright to Reyelene (me).**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Yuletide Tales Continued ... What Sharing _Means_**

Deniece placed three dressed on her bed. The first one was yellow gold, shimmering like the sun in a bat's night with a V-neck long enough to shamelessly expose a little cleavage. The second was a weeping willow green, its style is modest and simple even in the breast region. And the third was black, when all else failed. When Deniece placed more than one dress on her bed, it is usually because she struggled with deciding which dress was the right one to wear. Because she had such an odd coloring in her fur, hair, and eyes combined, it was extremely difficult to decide which one looked better on her. Raisa Dalton (whom she always referred to as _Lacey_ ) used to help her in deciding the right dress for her to wear for _The Rat Trap_ performances. But Raisa was dead, and it was times like these that Deniece missed her most.

But Deniece wasn't getting ready for a _Rat Trap_ performance this time. She was planning to attend a Christmas bonfire, held in the mousedom village square. A group of mice would make a fire, everyone in mousedom would gather around, and tales of Yuletides past and present would ensue. Sometimes, there would be booths that sold candy for children, fabrics and sewing material for ladies, suits and hats for men, and meats and cheeses for everyone. Well ... everyone mouse kind, that is. Most of the foods provided were the kind only mice would eat. Bats' eating habits were way too different. It was fish for upper class bats, meat pies and fruits for the middle class, and insects for the ones at poverty level. Deniece often fancied a delicious perch, it was so light and lean. It was the secret as to why Deniece was so lean, while most mice in mousedom were fat. The only lean mice she ever knew who were pillars of society were Basil of Baker Street and Sister Ingrid of Westminster Abbey. All other lean mice she had seen were either prostitutes or belonged to the criminal element of society. But bats, no matter their social status or wealth, were _always_ lean! And Deniece was proud of that.

"Try da green one."

Deniece's thoughts were disturbed only for a moment. Fidget stood by her door with a smile.

"Oh?" Deniece replied curiously. "Why the green one?"

"It brings out your eyes more," Fidget replied.

Deniece gave Fidget a look of bewilderment. Since when did a bat like Fidget develop an eye for fashion? Nevertheless, Deniece tried on the green dress. Turned out Fidget was right. The green dress did bring out her eyes more. She sat on the stool of her vanity table and gazed in the mirror. Now she was trying to figure out how to fix her hair. Which hat should she wear? Which jewelry should she put on? Should she put a comb in her hair? Should she pin her hair up, or let it flow freely? Too many choices, and it was _frustrating_!

"Are you aimin' to impress da crowd or keep warm?"

Deniece abruptly turned her head. Once again, Fidget appeared by the door. "I'm not sure. Why do you ask?"

Fidget did not answer her question, but pointed to a green coat that happened to match her dress. "Leave your hair down, but bring dat coat with you. You can also wear dhose green emerald earrin's, if you want to."

Deniece did not speak, but simply put on the emerald earrings Fidget suggested ... which went perfect with her dress! As for her green coat, it wasn't a coat per se, but a thick cape and hood. Bats seldom wore real coats because not all were tailored specifically for bats' wings. But they used their wings to wrap around their body to keep warm. The cape and hood simply protected their head, shoulders, and back from the cold.

"Dhose green boots and mittens will work too," Fidget pointed out. "It's goin' to be cold, tonight."

Why did Deniece get the sneaky feeling that something was up? "Fidget, are you alright?" she asked.

"Never better, Niecy," Fidget replied. "Why do you ask?"

"It's not like you to be so meticulous with my choice in fashion. What are you up to?"

Fidget shook his head, but he motioned Deniece to follow him into the parlor. She blinked in astonishment. Normally, she would've been offended by such an abrupt response such as that. She would rather make decisions herself, even if she did take a long time. But Fidget's say in her choice of dress happened to save her the stress of fashion woes. So she followed Fidget's signal and came into the parlor. Deniece nearly jumped out of her skin as she stared in disbelief at the sight of the parlor. The wooden floors were completely spotless, dust-free, and sparkling. A fire was lit while an extra set of fire wood sat next to the fireplace. And entire parlor was dress in violet bulbs and silver garland. Even the Christmas tree was decorated in these colors. All this time, she and Fidget had been arguing because Deniece ended up doing all the work while Fidget sat and did nothing. But what happened?

" _You_ did all this!?" Deniece cried.

Fidget nodded. "Well, you were busy dressin' up, and I had nuthin' to do."

Deniece crossed her wings suspiciously. "Okay Fidget, you're _up_ to something. You might as well fess up! Or do I have to probe you?"

Fidget chuckled in disbelief. He thought Deniece would've thanked him since she complained that he was so _lazy_. " _What_!?"

Deniece wanted to say something, but was really at a loss for words. Did she really push Fidget too hard? He may have been lazy, but she began to worry that she may have given him a meltdown. After all, she had a talk with the Collins couple. Albert told her that Fidget had gotten himself in a struggle with some angry Christmas carolers, not to mention he passed out from all the stress when Albert probed him for information. But Fidget didn't look stressed at the moment, if he went through all this effort to impress her. Maybe it was best to not ask, Deniece decided.

"Niecy, I know I've been a bad friend to you," Fidget uttered in a sheepish manner, just before he wrapped his wings around Deniece's waist. "I'm sorry I didn't help you like I should've."

Deniece's face blushed as she gazed in wonder at her friend's penitence. Maybe she _did_ push Fidget too hard. She wrapped her large wings around her little friend, even _she_ was feeling sheepish. "Your foster father said you had some trouble with the local Christmas carolers. What happened?"

Fidget heaved a deep sigh before finding his tongue. "Remember I told you when I used to be a pirate, and I did terrible t'ings to people? Well ... two of dhose carolers used to be Captain Bates's prisoners."

Deniece's jaw dropped. "Did they hurt you, Fidget!?"

"Well ... _no_ ," Fidget replied. He decided that being paddled on the backside did not count. His feelings may have been hurt, but it did not prevent him from functioning normally. He could still walk, talk, compliment Deniece, and joke around whenever he felt like it. "But ... it has been botherin' me a lot."

"Is _that_ why you've been moody?"

Fidget nodded. "I t'ought I had forgotten all about it. But ... I was wrong ..."

Deniece gave Fidget a gentle push away before she knelt to his level to look him straight in his yellow eyes. "What are you going to do about this, Fidget?"

"I'm gonna do some chores for dhem," Fidget replied. "I don't know what dhose chores are yet. But I'll do anyt'ing dhey ask of me. I _must_."

"Just be careful, Fidget," Deniece warned him. "Sometimes the world can be very cruel ... even during the holidays."

"Nah ... I don't t'ink dhese boys are cruel," Fidget sighed. And he strongly believed it. If the Von Freirherr Brothers and the carolers were cruel, they wouldn't have spared his life. "But ... I will be careful." Fidget wrapped his wings around Deniece's neck. "I promise ..."

While Anna Collins prepared dinner for the family, Fidget took the opportunity to shower himself after he had finished all his chores. As the water caressed his face, chest, and every aspect of his body like a passionate lover, Fidget found himself deep in thought. He remembered those seemingly long evenings at sea on _The Bloody Rose_ when in order to bathe oneself, one had to toss buckets of water in the sea and pull them up to pour in a wooden tub. Although the task itself was not that difficult, it all depended on the cooperation of the crew. Most of the time, everyone was too lazy to do anything and only resorted to doing such tasks _after_ Captain Lillian Bates threatened to throw the crew overboard if they didn't get something done. And every one had to stand in a single-filed line to take turns in bathing, and each member only had three minutes to bathe or they would be forced to walk the plank. At first, Fidget avoided bathing to save himself the trouble of being yelled at for taking too long. But one crew member who had done the same was stricken with disease and died, so Fidget had no other choice but to do as the other crew members did and waited in line. It was only when _The Bloody Rose_ lowered its anchor at the docks did the crew members have the privilege to bathe themselves in the water without time constraints. But the water smelled too much like salt and made the bathing experience less enjoyable. But this shower felt great and Fidget solemnly glided the soap upon his arms and across his chest.

"Come sit at the table, Fidget. I've finished preparing dinner."

Fidget heard Anna's voice as he turned the water off to dry himself. A clean white shirt and green pants sat on top of the hamper lid, waiting for their owner to take them. Fidget wasn't used to wearing anything white or green. He often preferred purple and black. As a child, he always had a fondness for purple. It just ... felt natural to him. But Anna had gone through so much trouble in making those clothes for him, he thought it best to not complain and just put them on anyway.

"Did you ever run into those Christmas carolers again?"

Fidget sat by Albert's left side of the table, while Anna sat next to Albert's right. Since the night Fidget had fainted, Albert wanted to know more about the situation between the bat and those carolers that had been pestering him.

"I did," Fidget replied.

" _And ..._?"

"Dhey helped me gather fire wood."

Albert cocked his eyebrow curiously. What caused them to turn around, he wondered? The last thing he remembered Fidget tell him was that these Christmas carolers were giving him a hard time. "Sounds like you're beginning to make friends, Fidget."

"Well, that _is_ good news!" Anna replied in surprise. "You're beginning to open up, faster than we expected."

"How were able to earn their trust so fast?" asked Albert.

Fidget shrugged. "I ... can't say dat I've earned dheir trust _yet_. I gave dhem provisions dat I carried in exchange for fire wood."

Anna placed her on Fidget's. "Are you going back there, Fidget?"

Fidget nodded. "I promised dhem I'll do whatever dhey ask."

"And what did they ask of you, Fidget?" Albert asked curiously.

Fidget heaved a deep sigh. He kept certain details hidden for some time to save the Collins couple from worry. "I'm sorry, Dad, I cannot say."

Albert gave Fidget a stern look. "You _know_ I don't approve of you keeping secrets from us, Fidget. We are you _parents_ and you are our _son_."

Anna placed her hand on her husband's shoulder. "I think what Fidget is trying to say is that's a matter between the carolers and himself."

"I hope you're not mad at me, Dad," Fidget replied. "I wish I could explain it better."

Albert sighed in surrender. "Do as you must, son. Just remember that any decision you make has consequences. As a grown man, it is your responsibility to deal with those consequences."

Fidget nodded. "I won't forget."

In order to find those Christmas carolers again, Fidget would have to take the hansom to Piccadilly where Father Richards lived. Only this time he would not be stopping at the mouse priest's house. Before Fidget had left the Collins household, he had packed another sack with provisions. Fidget only felt ashamed that he couldn't provide a better gift than this. Hopefully, there would be some tasks that Rolfe von Freirherr would have Fidget do for him. As he hopped aboard the hansom, Fidget pondered over his encounters with the Christmas carolers. He remembered how he was once afraid of them and how their songs drove him mad. And when Rolfe, their leader, had exposed him for what he was, Fidget had felt humiliated and stupid. But as much as Fidget disliked the punishment, he knew it wasn't _that_ bad compared to what _could've_ happened. And strangely enough, the bat _yearned_ for their company this evening, especially that little one named Paul.

The hansom stopped by Piccadilly and Fidget hopped off. He found and approached the same spot he originally found the carolers. Fidget slipped off his hood and wiggled his large ears, anticipating the sound of singing. But he heard nothing. He saw no one. Fidget ran into the forest where he gathered wood. He scouted for some sign of them, but saw no one. He began to frown. Where _were_ they?

"Are you lookin' for Rolfe?"

Fidget abruptly turned his head. Behind him stood Paul Triste, the youngest of the carolers. "How did you find me?" the bat asked.

"Rolfe _told_ me to find you," Paul answered. The little mouse slowly approached the bat and held his hand, beckoning Fidget to follow. The bat did not ask, but allowed Paul to lead the way.

It wasn't long before they finally arrived at a tiny cottage in the middle of the woods. Fidget gazed at the smoke coming from the chimney. The Christmas carolers had built a fire, no doubt.

"Rolfe!" Paul cried out. "I found 'im!"

The cottage door opened. Then a voice called: "Bring 'im in then!"

Paul lead Fidget inside the cottage. Upon entering, Fidget's yellow eyes widened in awe. Before coming to this cottage, he had expected the carolers to live like orphans in a run-down, poor, and dingy place. But this place was clean, modestly decorated, and welcoming. Not to mention, their was a circle-shaped table near the corner with plates of food sitting on it. It wasn't the provisions Fidget gave the last time, because there was bread, wine, kippers, and fruit. They must've already eaten the provisions that were given to them.

"So you've come, Mr. Fidget?"

Fidget was surprised to see Rolfe standing behind him.

"I was afraid you wouldn't come back," Rolfe gave a slight chuckle. "Especially after we _punished_ you."

"I ... brought _dis_ ," Fidget replied, handing the sack of provisions to Rolfe. "I didn't know you had food already."

"Hans and I visited with Father Richards," Rolfe continued. "Turns out you _were_ tellin' the truth. 'E told me your parents were killed by 'eretics, and that 'e found you foster parents."

Fidget nodded.

"'E also told us to make sure to keep you busy."

"As I said before," Fidget began, "Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

Rolfe pointed to one of the carolers who sat with piles of green and white fabric. "Jeremy is sewin' a dress for a girl 'e likes."

Fidget blinked his eyes in disbelief. "He _sews_!? I t'ought only _women_ sew!"

"It's 'ard for us to find good ladies 'ere," Paul Triste told Fidget. "So we learned to sew ourselves."

"Does he want me to hold one end?" Fidget asked.

"Just talk to Jeremy," Rolfe said, motioning Fidget to go. "'E'll tell you what to do."

Fidget did as Rolfe asked, though in all honesty Fidget felt awkward. The idea of men sewing just felt strange to him. The mouse called Jeremy tossed one end of the green fabric in Fidget's webbed arms and motioned for Fidget to sit next to him.

"What do you make of this Fidget character, brother?" Hans whispered to Rolfe. He kept as much distance between himself and the peg-legged bat so as not to be heard by him. "I'm lookin' at 'I'm as we speak. 'E seems too _baby_ to plot anything against us."

"So it would seem," Rolfe whispered back, watching Jeremy hand Fidget a pair of scissors. "But I still can't shake the image of that bat's face when 'e murdered our mother. And some folks are very skilled manipulators, brother."

Hans sighed. "I know ... But it seems so ... _odd_. It's like we're seein' two different bats."

" _That_ is what I mean by skilled manipulators, Hans. They can change between personas so much you cannot tell the difference."

Both Rolfe and Hans watched as Fidget placed the scissors an arm's length away from himself after helping Jeremy finish cutting the fabric. Hans heaved another deep sigh. "If this Fidget is a skilled manipulator, then why does Paul take a likin' to 'im?"

"Paul is still young, brother," Rolfe told him. "'E still thinks _everyone_ is as innocent as _'e_ is."

"It was _Paul_ 'oo punched Fidget in the stomach the first night we ran into 'im. I think Paul can tell the difference between a good character and a bad 'un, better than we give 'im credit for."

Rolfe sighed. "I still say we keep an eye on the bat, _especially_ with Paul."

While Rolfe and Hans remained in the shadows to watch, Fidget was handed another piece of fabric. Up until now, Fidget felt awkward cutting the pieces of fabric Jeremy handed to him. The idea of a man sewing, a line of work that generally belonged to women, was odd to Fidget. And he was embarrassed at the thought of doing _women's_ work, but lucky for him that Jeremy was patient. And after all, the bat _promised_ to do whatever Rolfe told him, so he had to _endure_ the embarrassment. Fidget's left hand had been trembling so much, he worried he would lose control and stab Jeremy by accident. It was the reason why he placed the pair of scissors at arm's length away from himself, not to mention that Rolfe and Hans were watching. And despite the distance those two mice kept from him, Fidget could still _hear_ their conversations. It was too bad Rolfe still didn't trust him with Paul Triste, Fidget would've liked to talk to him some more. But he knew it was _not_ his place to decide or _his_ decision to make.

As for the fabric, Fidget had been cutting the green one to help finish Jeremy's gift for his _lady_. But Jeremy had all different colors, and Fidget spotted one that looked and felt familiar. It was a light, blue-colored fabric. Light blue ... The same color as the dress he remembered seeing his own mother in. And he remembered that his mother wore a blue ribbon around her neck, which was a slightly darker shade than her dress. For a long time, Fidget stared at the fabric. Then he turned his head to look at Jeremy and ask him if he could touch that fabric. Jeremy obliged and handed it to Fidget. The bat ran his left hand upon the fabric. Even the material felt familiar. He knew because he remembered tugging on his mother's dress as a child whenever he needed something. It was just too bad that it annoyed his mother when he did it.

What could he do with this fabric, Fidget wondered? As his hands were pleased by its texture, he thought about Deniece. How would she look in a blue dress? He still thought green was her color since it brought out her eyes more. She wasn't lacking in any dresses ... or clothes for that matter. The bulk of them were _hand-me-downs_ from her deceased foster parents, only her dresses for _The Rat Trap_ she bought for herself. But Fidget couldn't make anything for himself in this color, as soothing as it looked. He would've felt too ridiculous in it; blue was definitely _not_ his color!

"How come you like that fabric so much?"

Fidget's thoughts were disturbed when Jeremy spoke to him. The bat took a moment to re-gather his thoughts again. "My mudher ... wore dis color."

"I 'ave another chore for you, Mr. Fidget!" Rolfe called to the peg-legged bat. Fidget handed the blue fabric back to Jeremy and rose to his foot and peg. "'Elp George fetch water from the well out back. We need it to put in our cauldron 'ere."

What could they possibly need to boil water in a cauldron when food was already waiting on the table? Nevertheless, Fidget followed George outside in the backyard. A well stood three feet away from the house. The mouse called George held two buckets in his hand and placed them at the foot of the well. He ordered Fidget to fill both of them with water and then carry one back to the house while George carried the other. Fidget placed one bucket on the crane and lowered it in the well. After he heard the sound of splashing water, Fidget turned the crank to raise the bucket. There was slight resistance in the crank. Fidget could tell that a water-filled bucket would be a lot heavier than it looked. But Fidget had enough strength in his upper body and continued to turn. After placing the water-filled bucket on the ground, he began lowering the second one.

"What does Rolfe need water for?" Fidget asked George.

"For Chris," George answered. "'E's got a bit o' a cold and needs somethin' to warm 'is feet."

Finally, the second bucket was filled. George carried one bucket back to the house while Fidget carried the other. As he anticipated, the water-filled bucket was heavier than it looked, nearly putting a strain on Fidget's back. The door was only three feet away, but the weight of the bucket made it feel like he was walking for miles. So Fidget partially dragged the bucket, careful as to not spill too much water from it.

"Looks like our friend 'ad a bit o' trouble," Hans told Rolfe as he watched Fidget drag the bucket inside, then clasp his lower back with his hands.

"Well, 'e managed to get the bucket in," Rolfe replied. "And we must make sure 'e never _forgets_ 'is lesson."

"And which lesson is _that_ , brother?"

"The same pain you and I went through when we struggled 'ere in London."

Upon hearing his elder brother say this, Hans sighed heavily and crossed his arms. "I _know_ you miss mum and dad, Rolfe, but I think 'e already learned 'is lesson when we punished 'im. If our mother were still alive, I doubt she would approve of this."

"It's not just about our mother!" Rolfe explained, surprised by his little brother's rhetoric. "That bat _took_ us from our 'ome in Germany, then he _threw_ us 'ere to die! We were _starving_ , Hans, not to mention folks 'ere aren't very nice to foreigners."

"I'm _not_ saying you should reward 'im, Rolfe," said Hans. "I'm saying we should set a better example to Paul and not push this bat too hard."

Rolfe began to seethe through his teeth. "How dare you utter such blasphemy, brother!"

Hans nonchalantly crossed his arms. As much as he loved his brother, he _knew_ him too well. Rolfe was so emotionally attached to their father to a fault. He believe their father was a demi-god and could _never_ do any wrong. But Hans _knew_ the truth. He knew of their father's extramarital love affairs. Hans actually caught him with another woman one night and called him out on it. Baron von Freirherr threatened to have him beaten if he told his mother. Hans went to warn his mother, but Rolfe intervened and told him that it was _none of his business_. Hans was deeply angry with his brother for defending Father's actions; it wasn't fair that their mother be kept ignorant. Hans recalled how their father would talk about their mother as if she were just another _fickle female_. Baron von Freirherr talked as if his wife were stupid and that her feelings toward him didn't matter. Hans _hated_ him for that. Yes, their mother would get overly hysterical at times, but she did not deserve the treatment their father gave her. Hans hated to admit such a thing to his brother, but Captain Bates was right in executing him.

"And what do you intend to do with _me_ , Rolfe?" Hans said with a tone of defiance. " _Beat_ me?"

Without warning, Rolfe grabbed his brother by the collar of his coat. "How dare you talk to me like that!" he uttered through gritted teeth. "I am your elder brother! You _will_ listen to me!"

"That will not work on me anymore, _brother_!" Hans told him. "Besides, _Paul_ is watching."

Rolfe spotted Paul Triste looking up at the two mice confusingly. "Why do you two always fight?" the little mouse uttered in a sad tone.

Ashamed and embarrassed that Paul was watching, Rolfe released his hands from his brother's collar. Hans spoke truth, as _always_. Sometimes is made Rolfe so jealous to admit that he alone wouldn't have survived if it hadn't been for Hans's wit.

"This is what I speak of, Rolfe," Hans continued. "What good does it do to stoop down to the creature's level? You cannot win, and even if you _did_ win, you would hate your prize."

Fidget approached Rolfe and Hans as the quarrel ended. "I'll leave if my presence is causin' problems."

The two mice jolted in surprise and turned their heads toward the peg-legged bat.

"You two didn't know?" Fidget pointed to his left ear. "Bats have acute hearin'. Why do you t'ink dhey're so _big_?"

The mice didn't answer the bat's question, but Hans suggested that Rolfe pour the water from the buckets and into the cauldron and then rest when he is done. Hans alone, wanted to have a word with Fidget. So he beckoned Fidget to follow him back to the well. Fidget followed without question, as he did for the most part since he set foot in their cottage.

"Don't mind my brother's temper, Mr. Fidget," Hans told him. "Sometimes he gets carried away, being the big brother."

"I don't mind it," Fidget replied. "But why did you bring me out here?"

"Rolfe wanted to be the one to ask you why your murdered our parents," Hans began. "Unfortunately, Rolfe is overworked and forgets to rest when he needs to. So I'll be the one to do it."

Fidget sighed heavily. He would preferred to tell Rolfe himself since Rolfe was the one who asked for it. But given the current situation, Fidget had to accept what was offered. He waited for Hans to say the first word.

"I'll admit our father was no innocent," Hans stated. "He has shamed the name of von Freirherr, so I don't blame you or your Captain Bates entirely for his fate."

Fidget's ears wiggled, a sign that he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was Hans actually giving Captain Lillian Bates credit for murdering his parents?

"What I don't understand is why did our mother have to die too?"

Fidget trembled in anger. "I didn't want to do it!" he replied. "Captain Bates _made_ me!"

"But I _saw_ you!" Hans replied. "As you tortured our mother in such a shameful way, you _smiled_. That didn't look like an act done out of _force_."

"I didn't remember doing it!" Fidget reacted. "I didn't even remember dat it happened ... because I didn't _want_ to remember!"

"But you can't deny it any longer, Mr. Fidget," Hans pointed out. "Our mother did not deserve the fate she received."

" _Captain Bates_ said she had to die," Fidget replied. "She said da Baroness was too frivolous."

"And you _believed_ 'er?" Hans chuckled sarcastically.

"Yes!" Fidget reacted. "I hate rich people!"

" _Why_!?"

"Because dhey never _share_!" Fidget said, his anger slowly rising. "Dhey never even ask us to be dheir friends!"

"Mr. Fidget, we don't _know_ you!" Hans pointed out. "And you gave us a bad impression by murderin' our parents! We will never see our parents ever again, all because of _you_!"

"Well, when will I ever see _my_ parents!?"

Hans blinked his eyes in disbelief. How did the subject change so abruptly, he wondered? But he would not allow himself to be caught off-guard by this _creature_. "I was talking about _our_ parents, not yours!"

" _You_ said I gave you a _bad impression_ for murderin' your parents!" Fidget pointed out. "Well what about da impression dhose _priests_ gave to _me_ when dhey murdered _mine_!?"

Once again, Hans blinked his eyes and shook his head. What was all this nonsense he was hearing right now!? "I'm not understanding you at _all_. I said I was talking about _our_ parents. You aren't sayin' _Father Richards_ murdered your parents, are you!?"

"No!" Fidget shook his head, getting irritated. "And leave Father Richards outta dis!"

Now things were getting more curious by the minute. Up until now, Hans would've concluded that Fidget was just another common criminal, with no concept of honor or integrity. The original plan Rolfe and Hans agreed to was to make the bat's life miserable, then leave him alone either to die of grief or wait for hellhounds to feast upon his flesh. That was what was supposed to happen after Rolfe made an example of the bat to Paul. But now this bat sounded so _childish_ , in his mannerisms, his unusually cooperative behavior, the expressions on his face ... and _everything_. And Hans was very good at reading people. If he did not possess this gift, he would've taken Rolfe's conclusion that it was _all an act_.

"It's so _easy_ for you rich people, isn't it!?" Fidget continued. "You got to celebrate Christmas, while _I_ got punished for _everyt'ing_! Always strugglin' to find food, always bein' yelled at, always bein' beaten for not doin' well in school! Always on da _punishin' end_! Is dat fair _everyone else_ gets a Christmas and I _don't_!"

"What does this 'ave to do with our parents!?" Hans asked, trying to get back on the subject.

"You're not listenin' to me!" Fidget's anger was beginning to burn like wildfire. "You're not da only one who had parents! See, dis is why I _hate_ rich people! You t'ink you own Christmas because you have a house and fire! Did you or your parents ever ask me if _I_ had a good Christmas!?"

"You keep bringing up _Christmas_ a lot! _Why_!?"

"BECAUSE CHRISTMAS IS MY _BIRTHDAY_!"

What Fidget said was true. Christmas was _his_ birthday. How all those Christmases came and went, Fidget yearned for it so much. He yearned for sitting in front of a warm fire place in _peace_. He yearned for someone to invite him, just _once_! He yearned to extend his own hand in friendship, and that his friendship would one day be accepted. But all his Christmases were spent in a pub, drinking the nights away. All his Christmases were spent in loneliness. All those years he wanted to cry, but couldn't because Captain Bates saw crying as a weakness. The Nightwing Pirates kidnapped him as a child, took him to the _The Bloody Rose's_ captain, and made him do things he didn't want to do. And those years would never come back.

Fidget ranted that Hans's parents were _no better_ than he was. He ranted that rich folks like those priests _forced_ him and his mother to do things they didn't like, which in reality had nothing to do with Hans or his parents. But Fidget's pain and suffering burned him so badly, he didn't care if anything he said made any sense. As for Hans, he looked at the bat with pity in his eyes. He knew Fidget was childlike, but he didn't realize how much of a child he was. Apparently, this bat was a very _needy_ child. He looked like one of those orphaned infants Hans's mother used to talk about, always crying for a mother to suckle when no mother would come. Hans never thought he would ever meet one of these orphaned children in real life.

All of a sudden, Fidget fell to his knees on the snow-covered ground. His yellow eyes rolled back, appearing glossy as he landed on his left side.


	4. And the Candle Burns Brightly!

**_"Loving is to live, with the power to forgive ..."_ -Kajagoogoo. Recently, I've read the reviews GMD fans have given me on in the past. One that caught my eye was the one posted by MercurysPen for _The Eve I Gained a Son_ about "being less inclined to believe Fidget being able to reform so much." Although I don't always have the time to response to all reviews, it does not mean that I don't take them into consideration. It's because of reviews like these, it helps me to see where I need improvement in my writing. And by improvement, I mean so that they can still get tear-jerk reactions, yet remain enjoyable even years from now. So for this story, I used the same formula as I did with _The Eve I Gained a Son_ , but this time I focused more on the emotional aspect versus the logical one. Fidget, Albert, and Anna are copyright to Disney. All other characters are copyright to Reyelene (me).**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: _And the Candle Burns Brightly!_**

"'E's wakin' up now, Hans!"

Fidget's eyelids fluttered as he lifted himself in a sitting position. Did he have another fainting spell? That was the third one he has had this month. When the bat's eyes fully opened, he found himself on a bed ... and little Paul Triste stood in front of him.

Rolfe and Hans stood in the shadows while the other carolers feasted in the other room.

"If I 'adn't 'eard you two screamin' outside and investigated," Rolfe began in a whisper, "I wouldn't been ignorant of 'ow _needy_ 'e really was."

"I told you this Fidget character was too _baby_ to plot anything," Hans whispered back. "This bat 'as been lead around 'is whole life. Without a leader, 'e's practically _'elpless_."

Rolfe didn't take a rest like his little brother suggested. Instead, he peeked outside the window when he heard yelling, fearing his little brother was in danger. He witnessed Fidget helplessly flail his wings in the air and sway his head back and forth like a decapitated prisoner. He saw the desperate expression on the bat's face moments before he fell to the ground, unconscious.

"I think I know _why_ 'e murdered our parents," Hans began. "'E was _afraid_ of them."

Rolfe blinked his eyes, surprised by his brother's conclusion. "Hans, what are you sayin'?"

"'E kept saying something about _'is_ parents," Hans informed him. "'E said rich priests killed them and tried to kill 'im too. And then 'e kept babblin' on about Christmas bein' 'is birthday and 'ow unfair it was everyone else 'ad a Christmas and 'e _didn't_. What do _you_ make of it, brother?"

"Father Richards did tell me that Mr. Fidget's parents were killed by heretic priests," Rolfe replied. "But, I didn't want to believe it. And I don't understand _why_ 'e would be afraid of our parents. 'E didn't even _know_ them."

"Well, we've seen 'ow 'e acts with unfamiliar things," Hans pointed out. "Remember the first night we found 'im? 'E was on all fours, eatin' snow. Just the fact that we surrounded 'im was enough to put 'im on the spot."

"Not to mention 'e claimed he didn't know 'oo we were," Rolfe agreed. "I do remember 'im tellin' us 'e didn't know what we were talkin' about when we addressed the matter. 'Is eyes blank, like a little child. I didn't believe 'im because all I could think about was that face he made to us when he murdered our mother."

Hans nodded. "'E did threaten to _call our mother_ , when 'e forgot our mother was dead."

" _Go 'ome to your new guardians_ , 'e said," Rolfe mimicked. " _Don't stress them out_."

Fidget abruptly grabbed his stomach, as it began to hurt from hunger. "I'm ... hungry ..." he uttered meekly.

"Fetch him some sausage, Paul," Rolfe ordered. "We don't want 'im to pass out again."

Hans slowly approached the bed-ridden bat. "It seems we have greatly misjudged you, Mr. Fidget. We thought you were some monster 'oo would murder a child if given the chance. But ... you 'ave proven us wrong." Both Hans and Rolfe heaved sighes of regret, now they were sorry for punishing the bat to begin with. "I ... think it's only fair that you make a request for _us_."

Fidget looked up meekly at Hans. "I ... don't know ... what to request."

"Well, think about it," Hans replied. "We 'ave to practice some more songs so we can entertain our customers."

Songs ... songs ... Fidget _did_ have a request! "I heard dis song da second night you found me. I'm not sure ... but it had to do with woods ... and a village ..."

Rolfe and Hans stared at each other curiously. "Woods and a village ... " Rolfe repeated. "The only song I can think of with those words are _Stopping by the Woods on a Snowing Evening_."

"Yes, dat one," Fidget replied. "I wish I could hear dat song again."

"Is _that_ your request?" Hans asked.

Fidget nodded.

"Why that song, if I may ask?" Rolfe added.

"It reminds me of when ... _my_ parents were still alive," Fidget answered.

By the time Fidget had made his request, Paul returned with a piece of sausage for Fidget to chew on. The little mouse handed it to the bat and the bat chewed it humbly. When he had finished, all eight Christmas carolers surrounded the bat and began to hold hands. They only hesitated until Fidget gave them his undivided attention.

 _"Whose woods these are, I think I know.  
His house is in the village though  
He will not see me stopping near  
To watch his woods up with snow ..."_

The octet's voices sounded womanish, since they were still boys. But their voices blended well and were soft enough to put Fidget's mind at ease. The bat closed his eyes as he listened to each word the octet uttered. All of a sudden, he began to hear a childlike laughter in the background ... _His_ laughter. Was he dreaming? He suddenly saw a grown bat, playfully chasing a little baby bat. Back and forth, the two bats switched from chaser to the one being chased. And not too far stood the mother, hopelessly shaking her head at the site of the two. Yet she could nothing but smile.

 _"My little horse must think it queer  
To stop, without a farmhouse near between  
The woods and frozen lakes  
The darkest evening of the year ..."_

Another vision followed. The father bat and his son are throwing snowballs at each other. The little bat was giggling, he looked so ... _happy_. But mother was calling them in for supper and worried that the little bat would catch a cold. The two flew back up. Inside, their home was humbly decorated with Christmas ornaments and on their table, there was food in abundance. Father bat's work provided him with the food, Fidget remembered. He and his parents didn't make a lot of money, but his Father was very fortunate to have a generous boss provide them food. The three bats feasted well that night. There was no going to sleep on an empty stomach.

 _"He gives his harness bells a shake  
To ask if there is some mistake  
The only other sound's the sweep  
Of easy wind and downy flake."_

Fidget took a deep, cleansing breath as he allowed the sound of those voices to sweep through his fragile body. He began to feel something inside him ... it was that _candle_ once again. Then he saw that little bat stare at a candle on the table. He held out his webbed hand to touch the flame, but his mother caught it in time before he could burn himself. Then his father brought out a box, wrapped in shiny paper. He beckoned the little bat to open it, and the bat excitedly unwrapped the paper and removed the lid. And the little bat's eyes lit up like the candle. It was a freshly knitted scarf and a small bag of shillings. A giggle escaped the creature's throat as he held the two gifts in his hands. The young bat hugged his father, thanking him endlessly for the gifts. And the mother handed the bat a plate of perch, for the bat's birthday. She smiled, whispering _"Happy birthday, son"_ ... The little bat wrapped his wings around her, and she did the same, cuddling him to no end.

 _The woods are lovely, dark and deep  
But I have promises to keep,  
And miles to go before I sleep,  
And miles to go before I sleep ...  
... Before I sleep ..._

As the song ended by the octet chorus, they began to hear choking sobs across from them. It was coming from Fidget; his back was arched, his body shook, and a puddle of tears spilled onto his lap. He mustered any courage he had left to look into the eyes of the Christmas carolers. "T'ank you ... for _remindin'_ me ... what Christmas is ..." Each attempt Fidget made to dry his eyes, a fresh set of tears flowed.

"Why are you crying, Mr. Fidget?" said Paul, looking at the bat confusingly. "Are you ill?"

Fidget shook his head. "All of you ... You've ... opened my eyes ..." he struggled to say. "You've ... shown me mercy ... even dhough I was ... a _monster_ to you ..."

"But, you're no monster," said Paul, looking puzzled.

"Yes, I am," Fidget replied, his furry cheeks covered in waterfalls of tears. This time, he looked at Rolfe and Hans. "I now realize how ... young and stupid I was ... to make your mudher suffer ... and how I treated you two da way I did ..."

Fidget held out both his wings, which were trembling, then motioned them inward to focus the attention on himself. "Just _look at me_ ... Is _dis_ da same monster ... dat has caused you grief ...? You have ... no idea how ... bad I feel for what ... I did. I'm sorry ... I'll never ... hurt you two again ... I'm sorry ..."

Rolfe and Hans gazed at each other, shaking their heads before looking back at Fidget. "Oh pull yourself together, Mr. Fidget!" Rolfe replied almost sternly as he handed a handkerchief to the bat. "That was _long ago_ ; we can't undo what happened. Just leave other people's parents alone. And be good to young children, that is all we ask."

"Y-yes," Fidget struggled to say. "I promise ..."

"I think our parents' deaths 'ave been avenged," said Hans. "We no longer 'ave to worry about this creature 'arming us or anyone ever again. 'E's exactly as Father Richards described 'im."

Rolfe turned his gaze to Paul. "Now Paul, I want you to stay with Mr. Fidget 'ere while the other carolers and I run our errands."

Paul Triste blinked in surprise. "You want _me_ to stay with 'im?"

Hans nodded. "It seems that Mr. Fidget needs a friend. Would you keep 'im company while we're gone?"

Paul jumped excitedly as Rolfe, Hans, and the carolers left the cottage. Only Fidget and Paul remained in the room.

Fidget was still choking on sobs and wiping away tears. Paul Triste looked up and wrapped his arms around the bat's waist.

"You're alright, Mr. Fidget," Paul told the bat in a gentle voice. "Rolfe and Hans 'ave forgiven you. You're in good 'ands, Mr. Fidget."

Fidget did not respond but looked in the eyes of Paul Triste. Fidget was the adult here, wasn't it _his_ job to console a child rather than a child consoling _him_? Nevertheless, the bat was so deeply moved by Paul's gentle and wise demeanor that he wrapped his wings around Paul in a brotherly embrace.

"Where _is_ he!?"

Deniece held out her wrist to look at her watch. The Christmas bonfire was about to begin in ten minutes. Her body fidgeted as she lightly puffed on her cigarette. Her green eyes scouted the premises, hoping she wasn't the only bat in the crowd.

"I swear, that Fidget is _always_ late!" Deniece complained.

But Fidget never said he would attend the bonfire with her. Deniece knew Fidget wasn't one for fancy festivities or being among crowds. It was also one of the reasons she and Fidget would fight a lot. Deniece liked to go out and do things, while Fidget would rather sit in the house all day. And it drove her mad.

"How _dare_ he make promises he can't keep!" Deniece continued. "He _knows_ he owes me a night out! It's not proper helping a lady find a dress _without_ taking her out!"

"Oy! Miss!"

Deniece's ears perked at the sound of a voice. As she turned her head, she spotted two mice in the distance, running in her direction. Deniece's eyes blinked. Has she seen these mice before?

"Are you the one called Deniece?"

"I am," Deniece nodded. "Who are you?"

"We are the Christmas carolers that come to your door. My name is Hans."

Hans extended his hand to shake Deniece's. "What brings you out here, Mr. Hans?" the lady bat asked.

"We 'ave your friend, Fidget."

" _What_!?"

"'E's with us, Miss," added Rolfe, who stood right behind Hans. "We sent our youngest to bring 'im there."

"But why is he there?" Deniece asked. "Last we spoke, Fidget kept telling me your songs were driving him _mad_."

"Because we go a long way back, your Fidget and us," Rolfe answered.

"This isn't a jest, is it?" Deniece asked, her soft green eyes narrowed to slits. "Fidget has never mentioned you in any of our conversations."

"'E didn't know we were still around," Hans told her. "'E thought we were dead."

"That doesn't explain how you found _me_ ," Deniece replied.

"We spoke to Father Richards earlier," Rolfe answered. "'E told us to look for you. 'E told us you're Fidget's ... _best friend_."

"So they gave you those scars!?"

Fidget had the back of his sweater lifted to show Paul Triste the lash marks on his back, given to him by the priest heretics and Taylor.

"Why did they do that to you?"

Fidget sighed as he pulled his sweater back down. "With Taylor it was because I _talked back_. With dhose priests, I don't know."

"Did the police ever catch them?"

"The police didn't care." Fidget noticed Paul looking at him with confused eyes after that last comment. "I know dis doesn't make sense to you, but I saw. My mudher held me in her wings when she went to talk to da police. Dhey wouldn't listen to her."

" _Why_?"

"Because of her species ... _Our_ species," Fidget sighed in a slightly annoyed tone. His natural urge was to react, but he reminded himself that he was speaking to a child. After all, it wasn't the child's fault.

"Why don't they like your species, Mr. Fidget?"

"Because dhey don't _know_ us," Fidget replied. "Dhey don't understand our lifestyle. And dhey were probably ... told some _lies_."

"What kind of lies, Mr. Fidget?"

"Dat we _drink blood_. And dat we're creatures sent by da _Devil_."

"Why would they lie about you?"

Fidget blinked curiously. Didn't he already _answer_ a similar question? "I wish I _knew_ , kid."

"Christmas is Fidget's _birthday_!?" Deniece reacted in surprise.

"That's what I 'eard 'im say," Hans replied. "And 'e was quite upset about it."

Deniece lowered her head and sighed, a hint of shame in her breath. "He told me he felt bad for what he did to you and your brother. I had no idea the problem ran much deeper. He didn't tell me about Christmas being his _birthday_ ..."

"I don't think even 'e remembered, Miss Deniece," Rolfe replied. "'E sort of ... let it slip out."

"We can take you to 'im, Miss," Hans urged. "I'm sure 'e would like 'is _lady_ _friend_ by 'is side during ' _is_ birthday."

"Yes, I will come with you," Deniece replied. "But not before buying a gift for him. Would you allow me a few minutes, please?"

"So what kind of foods do you _like_ to eat?"

"We eat a lot of fish," Fidget replied. "Sometimes we'll eat fruit if dhere's an abundance of it."

Their original topic of conversation had shifted from talking about the heretic priests and Fidget's past to mundane topics like foods and clothing. Paul learned that Fidget was actually left handed and only wrote with his right hand because he would get beaten if he wrote with the opposite hand. Paul also learned that the secret to bats' lean bodies and slow aging process were because of the food they ate.

"So, you don't like the foods _we_ eat?"

"We _can't_ eat cheeses or breads," Fidget replied. "We would get sick if we do."

"Is it 'ard to get fish?"

Fidget rolled his eyes back in deep thought. "It depends on where you go."

Paul urged Fidget to elaborate more on the subject, but Fidget didn't know where to begin. Before the night of the encounter with those _priests_ , Fidget and his parents went to a fish shop once in a while. Most of the time, Fidget went with his father to fish in the River Thames because they couldn't always afford fish from the market. They used fishing poles that his Father hand-crafted, but his Father also taught him a special flying technique. But the effectiveness of the technique depended if the fish jump out of water or the level of noise that arose. Because bats have incredibly acute hearing, too much noise would throw off their senses. There was a lot less difficulty in getting fish when Fidget used to work for Captain Lillian Bates aboard _The Bloody Rose_ , but very rarely was the fish caught through hard work. Most of the times, it was stolen.

"Do you miss your parents, Mr. Fidget?" Paul asked, changing the subject.

Fidget sighed and nodded. "More dhan you'll ever know." As much as he tried not to think about it and display a tough exterior, there wasn't a day when he did not think about his biological parents. Even all those years on _The Bloody Rose_ when all memories of the past were lost, Fidget always felt this deep sadness in his heart. There were slumbers when he would tremble, then swear he could feel a presence comforting him. His mother's ghost, perhaps? But Fidget dismissed the idea. He didn't believe in ghosts. And as much as he admired and respected the Collins, they were _not_ his real parents.

"Do you have a _lady friend_ , Mr. Fidget?" asked Paul.

Fidget smiled sheepishly. Paul noticed the bat getting red in the face. "Well ... yes, I do."

"Is she nice?"

Fidget nodded. " _Very_."

Suddenly, a knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Paul insisted on getting the door, but Fidget was well enough to get off and follow him. Upon opening the door, Fidget was greeted by a very familiar face.

"So _this_ is where you've been hiding?" Deniece uttered with a defiant grin.

" _Niecy!?_ " Fidget responded with wide eyes. His wonderful lady friend stood in all her glory in that green dress of hers. "How did you find me _here_!?"

"Your _friends_ told me where to find you," she replied. "And ... I'm not the _only_ one here, Fidget."

As Deniece entered the cottage, she extended her great wing in the direction of the entry. Fidget and Paul peeked through; surrounded by the Christmas carolers were Albert and Anna Collins and Father Richards. And each one had gifts in their hands.

The peg-legged bat stood back in awe. The whole family was here, and Fidget could hardly believe his eyes.

"Rolfe and Hans told us what had happened," said Anna. "It sounded as if you need family right now."

"You remembered what we told you," Albert replied with a smile.

"You took responsibility for your actions, Fidget," Father Richards added. "And for that, a reward is in store for you."

Deniece was the first to hand Fidget a gift. The box was wrapped in a golden paper. With a motion of her webbed hand, Deniece beckoned Fidget to open it. The bat excitedly unwrapped the paper and removed the lid. Inside were two pairs of freshly knitted red scarves, red sweaters, red shoes, and a winged, golden brooch. Fidget held one of the scarves and ran his fingers through it. It felt nice and smooth to the touch. And since Fidget didn't have many red sweaters, he admired the color. Fidget looked up at Deniece curiously. "Did you make dis?"

"Well, I had a little help from Anna," Deniece admitted. "That golden brooch I bought at a stand during the bonfire."

Fidget's face turned as red as the scarf. " _Aw_ ... _Why_ Niecy? I don't even have a gift to give you."

"Hey, you helped me clean up house and find a dress, silly!" Deniece chuckled. "What could possibly be a better gift than that?"

"And here's _our_ gift to you," said Albert as his wife, Anna, placed the gift in front of Fidget. Unlike Deniece's, which came in a box, this one was unusually flat and hard. Now _this_ shape felt odd. What could it possibly be? Fidget opened it ... and discovered it was a clipboard with a piece of legal document attached to it. Fidget read the contents out loud, " _Henry Poole & Co., tailor shop?_"

"I know of a mouse there named Victor Poole," Albert told Fidget. "He's the shop owner and needs some assistance. I told him that you were looking for work ... and he would be happy to train you."

Fidget's heart sank and he dropped the clipboard on his lap. A _job_!? The Collins got him a _job_ for a Christmas gift!?

"He says you'll start the day after Christmas," Anna told him.

Fidget picked the clipboard back up and hugged it in front of his chest. He had a look of embarrassment on his face. "You two didn't have to do dat."

"Well," Albert began, "we figured you've been scrubbing floors and dusting chimneys too long. It's about time you took a step up."

"And don't worry about getting us a gift, Fidget," Anna added. "Being your parents has been an honor and a privilege. We couldn't ask for a better Christmas gift than having a son. Consider this one your _birthday gift_."

Fidget's ears drooped sheepishly and his cheeks blushed. That was what he remembered his biological parents telling him when he was alive. They used to say that Fidget was their _best Christmas gift ever._

"Which leaves only _my_ gift left."

And Father Richards handed his gift to Fidget. This one came in a very small box. The bat opened it ... and found a simple, purple-waxed candle and candle holder. Next to the small piece of wax was a note. Fidget unfolded it and began to read it. "Let dis candle be ... lit, only when ... you and da one you love ... have overcome all your ... past fears ..."

"This candle was once given to me by a dear friend of mine," Father Richards told him. "She was a young, female bat named Leti. She made this candle, in hopes she would own a candle shop. She had a very skilled hand and made many things, unfortunately she fell ill to tuberculosis and died. This candle never left my side for the longest time, I almost forgot I had it. But since Albert and Anna found a job for you at a tailor shop, this candle suddenly came to mind. You carry the hopes and dreams of your culture, Fidget. Never let this candle leave your side."

Fidget gently held the purple candle in his webbed hands before placing it back into the box and closing the lid. "It's a t'oughtful gift, priest. But ... what have I done to deserve _dis_?"

"Remember that evening you thought I was asleep?"

Fidget blinked his eyes in surprise. "You were _awake_!?"

Father Richards nodded. "I heard you say how jealous you were of my _strength_. And I still have the note you've written."

Fidget turned his head away, averting Father Richards's eyes. "Why couldn't you just _tell_ me?"

Father Richards chuckled. "Fidget, if I _told_ you _everything_ , would you have remembered even _half_ of what I've said?"

It took a moment for Fidget to realize what Father Richards was implying. "No, I wouldn't."

"Would it have made you any _stronger_?"

Fidget shook his head. "It would've driven me _mad_."

"Then you have demonstrated your strength in character."

Fidget did not respond to Father Richards's last comment, but it touched his heart. All this time, he had been envious of everyone around him because they were able to _share_ and he struggled with it. Then he had met Rolfe and Hans von Freirherr, two sons who've taught Fidget that one had to offer _servitude_ to make up for misdeeds, not _mere apology_. As for the father to son talk between Albert and Fidget, Fidget felt like he was being tortured when Albert _pressured_ him to talk. But in reality, Albert wanted Fidget to overcome his struggles to move forward in life. Had it not been for that father to son talk, Fidget probably wouldn't have offered his services to Rolfe and Hans ... or have the courage to face the Von Freirherr Brothers after he was punished by them.

Fidget looked up to all four members of his immediate family, who were smiling at him. The bat wanted to say _thank you_ to all of them, but he was so overcome with the candle in his heart that he was rendered speechless. Instead, he could only say _thank you_ with his heart. He cradled all the gifts that were given to him, just before Deniece knelt to his level and lovingly placed her webbed hand against his cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Fidget," she whispered. "And Happy Birthday."

And as the peg-legged bat held the best gifts he ever received, four pairs of arms embraced him lovingly. Fidget trembled, but this time it was not out of fear, guilt, or anger. It was out of pure joy. In the background, he could hear the carolers singing his newly favorite Christmas carol once again.

 _"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,_

 _But I have promises to keep_

 _And miles to go before I sleep ..._

 _And miles to go before I sleep ..._

 _Before I sleep ..."_

 **Author's note: The song Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening was originally a poem written by Robert Frost. Later on, it was made into a song sung by choirs and becoming a rare, but classic Christmas song.**


End file.
